


We Lose What We Love So That We Can Learn To Hold Tight To What's Left

by S_u_Z_u



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Aged up Jack (about 9), Anal Sex, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Saves the Day, Banter, Bottom John Marston, Caring John, Dad John, Eventual Smut, Gun fights, Happy Ending, John doin his best, John is such a bottom, Kidnapping, M/M, OC villians, Protective Arthur, Sick Arthur - brief, Swearing, Top Arthur Morgan, Violence, rough times in 1899, shootout, smut in last chapter, will update tags with new chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26566402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_u_Z_u/pseuds/S_u_Z_u
Summary: "We made a wrong choice, a series of them, but this one weighed heavier than anything the Van der Linde gang had felt before and that’s sayin’ something after what happened in Blackwater. Climbing up that blue mountain cost us more than the blood flowing through our fingertips. We would have gladly paid that price, as well as passed along every bottle in our carts if it meant that we’d be okay, but it wasn’t nearly enough."John was being pulled in two directions. One where everyone was deciding that John's sole purpose in life is to be Jack's father and the other where John wants to keep being the outlaw he's always been. John has never really gotten what he wanted, especially when Arthur Morgan was involved, but maybe that's ok because with everything going on, maybe John will finally learn that what he wanted wasn't what he actually needed.Please Don't Repost To Other Sites
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm back with my second RDR fic. I've got the majority of this one written out so uploads will be consistent!

Winter never did take kindly to folks like us. She’d always been a frigid beast with her wild eyes focused on men who spent their lives as scavengers, dirty and opportunistic as they were. Men like us spent our days takin’ from those with too much and ignorin’ those with too little, every minute in between spent running from the law while we made our own. The world didn’t have a need for us no more, and as Winter dug her icy claws deep beneath our coats, she made that notion loud and clear.

We made a wrong choice, a series of them, but this one weighed heavier than anything the Van der Linde gang had felt before and that’s sayin’ something after what happened in Blackwater. Climbing up that blue mountain cost us more than the blood flowing through our fingertips. We would have gladly paid that price, as well as passed along every bottle in our carts if it meant that we’d be okay, but it wasn’t nearly enough. 

Winter was hungry, hungrier than those of us starvin’ out on the road. Winter craved more than blood. She craved life; an insatiable need to supplement what she cannot provide any time she was around. 

So without shakin’ hands and signin’ our names, Winter stole from  _ us _ . 

Gone was sweet Tilly. 

Gone was brash Sean. 

Gone was Uncle and Mary-Beth, Mac and Davey and kind little Jenny, and most notably of all for John, gone was Abigail. Winter stole her last, drew it out with blue lips and chatterin’ teeth until John, bandaged from his encounter with the wolves and huddled against her in hopes to bring her a semblance of warmth, heard the last rattle from her lungs.

Despite being outlaws and the notion of empathy never being associated with the likes of them, Dutch and Arthur made sure to provide graves for those they lost, shallow and unmarked though they were. It was too cold to even stand by the side of the grave and offer a last few empty prayers, so John watched Jack and Mrs. Grimshaw sit at the window of this wayward shack they all huddled in while the snow came roaring down around them and offered those prayers from there. 

The road out of the snow and off that damned mountain was a quiet one. Those that survived dragged their feet solemnly down South until their downcast eyes were lookin’ at grass and mud staining their boots, and not blood.

It was no surprise that when they reached a more comfortable climate to travel in, Micah and Leopold up and abandoned them. It wasn’t much of a loss, in fact, it was probably for the gangs benefit, but it didn’t take away from the frustrations of being leached on by those two slimy bastards until they no longer needed to suckle from their supplies, decidin’ that they were gonna do better elsewhere. 

For those two, they had a pretty price on their heads, Micah especially for all his slaughtering. If John was being honest, he’d be ok if that bastard was shot or hanged so long as he himself wasn’t caught between the crossfire. It’d be the least the bastard deserved.

As for himself, John was sure, but it may have come as a surprise to everyone else when he decided to stick around unlike those two. He felt a sudden desperation to keep everyone close, needin’ to herd the gang together like a flock of sheep until they would solidify themselves as his pack. John never thought losing so many people he  _ thought _ he didn’t much care for would lead to this kind of behavior. He was always the one packing up and running away to be on his own, but after what happened, after Abigail… John didn’t want to be alone no more. He knew what that felt like, and with Jack, well- John didn’t want that for the boy and that scared the hell out of him.

So John stepped up. With their dwindlin’ numbers, the gang depended on him now more than ever. There was still the same amount of work to go around for a lot less hands. Sure, they still had Dutch and Arthur and Hosea to lead as they do, but it wouldn’t be enough. John’s new duty was to pick up any slack, no matter how small or tiresome it may be.

The Van der Linde gang needed John.

Jack needed John.

If John were to walk away now, that boy was as good as dead.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 is here! I really liked writing the interactions between John and Arthur, they have a fun little banter between them. 
> 
> Apologies for any grammar/typos - I have no beta so I did my best to make sure everything is as it should be.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The gang had managed for a few months alright, keepin’ a low profile from any surroundin’ towns. It wasn’t being done so much out of keepin’ the law off their backs, but more out of the lingering grief for all those they lost on the mountain. Morale was real low since then, everyone especially quiet and failin’ to cope with their ghosts. The dominoes had fallen on them and quick. It takes time for someone to come back from that. 

What’s frustrating, and possibly what hurts the most, is that it’s damn clear that Dutch was at a loss for what to do. He was their leader, the man with sugary words and charming smiles that could pull any fool out of the depths, but this time around Dutch had nothin’ to say. He was probably in the most pain since he had to watch their plans in Blackwater fall through the floor and then on top of that, watch the people he promised to protect die under his watchful eyes. Dutch didn’t believe in failure, but this was more than that.

So with their leader succumbing to his woes, there was only one other man to step up and keep things afloat. John wasn’t a religious man, considered to be made purely from sin by any preacher he met, but God Bless Arthur Morgan. If John himself hadn’t witness blood flow from the man with his own two eyes, he’d be the first to believe that that man was made of iron.

Arthur never stopped. He hunted often enough to keep food in their bellies, he cooked to the best of his abilities and that may have stirred Pearson into doing his part, and Arthur stole enough so that everyone had a little money linin’ their pockets. That man moved so much that you’d only see him every couple of days, if you’re lucky. Sometimes Arthur would be gone for a week or longer, sending the gang into a flurry of anxiety until he got back with his next great haul. Then it’d be a series of quick thanks and it was back to work.

But while they were all grateful for Arthur, John couldn’t help but turn in on himself a little. He felt bad, to say the least, everytime Arthur took on another task without askin’ for any help. It weren’t like no one would offer, John approached the older man plenty of times with an extended hand but Arthur would wave him off with a shake of his head and a crooked half smile.

“You got that boy of yours to look after, John. You take care of that and you let me handle this.”

“Jack’ll be fine for a day or two. C’mon Arthur, it’s just one job.”

“It’s one job you might not come back from. That boy don’t need to lose anyone else, ‘specially not you.”

Arthur’s statement had caught John a little off guard. Why did Arthur care about him and Jack so much? Made no damn difference when it came down to things. ‘S not like Jack wouldn’t have no one if John didn’t make it back from a job. Plus, his luck had held out so far.

“What about you, Arthur? You go get yourself shot out there, what happens then?!”

“Me?” Arthur would turn with that damned grin of his and those crinkles at the outside corners of his eyes, the sun brightening every blonde wisp on his head like that’s the only job it had, “Oh, I’ll be fine, John. Don’t you worry, now.” With that, off he went and left John and everyone else behind.

It made John mad, mostly because Arthur was right. Jack was still having a hard time over losing Abigail. John hadn’t seen the boy smile or laugh since her death and if John were to go, die in some gun fight over a few pieces of silver and gold, well, he couldn’t say for sure what would happen to the boy. So while John was left to fume, he did as he was told. He helped around the camp, fixed tents, helped the girls where he could, and spent a lot of time with Jack. The boy was growing up, headin’ on nine years now, and John taught the boy what he knew. John taught him how to hold a gun, how to aim, how to fish, what kinds of beasts to hunt and how to hunt them, anything he could think of so that one day that boy could live- really live.

With the next few passin’ months, everyone slowly brightened up. They were still in rough times but people were startin’ to branch out, head into nearby towns for small jobs and pullin’ their weight more. Even Dutch was startin’ up his speeches again, pretty words of makin’ it big and livin’ comfortably ringing from the step in front of his tent. John had to hold back a smirk a few times when he caught Hosea rollin’ his eyes behind Dutch, all of them havin’ heard those words before, but it was still nice to hear. Almost refreshin’ since they hadn’t heard it in a long time.

With those speeches came more work, and the men of the camp, plus Ms. Adler, were startin’ to flow in and out of the grounds. No longer was the camp needin’ to depend so heavily on Arthur, and a good thing too because after all those months of him workin’ himself to the bone, Arthur came back from his last job lookin’ like death. 

John was outside his tent, watchin’ the sun's steady ascent into the sky and pulling deep drags from his cigarette when Arthur, havin’ been gone for the past four days, broke through the treeline on his thoroughbred. Just as the older man came into view, looking a little slumped over in his saddle, a wheezy like sound bubbled out of him loud enough for even John to hear from where he stood and he slipped off his horse like a sack of sand.

_ “Arthur!” _

The name came right out of him, loud and alarmed and sure to wake the others, but John couldn’t care about that. He ran over to where Arthur lay, foot still caught in one of his horses stirrups as he wheezed with each breath. John shushed the horse, careful to dislodge Arthur from her, and sent her away as he crouched down and took a better look. 

Besides all the usual dirt and surface scratches on his skin, Arthur’s hair was damp with the sweat beaded on his forehead and his eyes were barely blinking open as John tapped his cheek to get his attention.

“Jesus, Arthur! Stay with me now-”

“By God, John, what in the  _ hell _ is going on?!” Dutch was shoving passed his tent flaps and stomping over in just his undershirt and trousers, soon followed by a grumbling Bill who stumbled tiredly over from his bedroll. Charles was suddenly by John’s side, the man always as silent as a wolf and most likely having seen the older man’s fall from where he stood watch, and Dutch and Bill were quick to pick up on the problem.

Bill ran for Mrs. Grimshaw while Dutch slid in front of Charles and helped John hoist Arthur up by his arms over their shoulders and carried him over to the woman’s tent. The older man was real heavy, John believing it to be the iron in Arthur’s bones, and both Dutch and John were pantin’ slightly as they moved him to the cot and laid him down as best they could without completely dropping him.

“What have you boys- Arthur?” Mrs. Grimshaw cut herself off and rushed over to his side, touching his forehead and checking his eyes, and John didn’t like the way her frown kept falling deeper and deeper the more she looked. 

“What’s wrong with him?” John didn’t recognize the slight waiver in his voice, never havin’ felt so helpless for a person but watching Arthur like this was like watching your hero die. It sent a shock of fear through him and John didn’t think he was the only one to experience that sensation. If Arthur didn’t pull through, what the hell were they goin’ to do? Everyone thought Arthur was unstoppable, but this? It just wasn’t right.

“I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner,” Mrs. Grimshaw spoke honestly, “With how hard he’s been pushing himself while we all sat back and watched, well… let’s hope it ain’t worse than it looks.”

Dutch and John watched on, grim, and Hosea sighed heavily when he walked in, looking to find out what all the commotion was about.

“Arthur, my boy, what are we going to do with you?” Hosea wiped a tired hand over his mouth as he took in the feverish man.

“We’re gonna let him rest,” Dutch spoke up, giving Mrs. Grimshaw a gentle squeeze of her arm, “I know you’ll take good care of him. You’re a damn fine nursemaid, if I’ve ever seen one.”

“You’ve got that right, now get out of my tent. We’ll all suffocate in here if y'all stick around. Mr. Marston, dear, fetch me a bucket of water before you go.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Off he went, running to grab a pail before sprinting to their little store of water and fillin’ it before racing back, spilling not a drop.

“Here you are,” John passed it off to her and she dunked in a cloth. John didn’t move as he watched her wring it out and start wipin’ up the grime from Arthur’s face.

“Is-” he had to clear his throat before trying again, feelin’ suddenly awkward and unsure of himself and not really understanding why, “Is he goin’ to be okay?”

Mrs. Grimshaw eyed John while she continued to work, reading him like an open book but John couldn’t possibly know what she saw. She said nothing as she unbuttoned the top part of Arthur’s shirt and wiped along his chest, the older man visibly relaxing under the cool touch although his wheezing was still loud and clear.

“Arthur Morgan is a tough man, Mr. Marston. You know that. If he came back any worse then I’d have been more worried. The man just needs some good, ol’ fashioned rest. Then we’ll get some food in him and I’m sure he’ll be up on his feet in no time,” Mrs. Grimshaw finally turned fully to John, dropping the dirtied rag into the bucket before giving him a kind smile, “Go on now, Mr. Marston. I’ll be sure to fetch you first thing when he wakes up. I’m sure he’d feel much better if you were one of the first things he saw.”

Before John could say much else, a little befuddled by her words, Mrs. Grimshaw surprised John with her strength as she turned him around by the shoulders and pushed him out of her tent. She gave him a final clap to his arm before headin’ back inside, leaving the man all alone lookin’ like a fool.

When John turned back to the camp, it became immediately obvious that Arthur’s predicament had kicked everyone else into high gear. The gang was down their strongest man and they had to pick up the slack. The girls were sorting through the things Arthur had brought back with him. There were a few rabbits tied to his mare’s saddle, as well as a sack of pocket watches and rings that one of them would bring to town next time they go to sell for some needed money. With the rabbits not having much to offer, Charles and Lenny were packing for their own hunt, looking to track down bison they heard were wanderin’ around to the west. If they managed to get one, the camp wouldn’t need food for a good while which meant Pearson and Karen could stay huddled around their steamin’ pots and brew the gang a hearty stew.

While all that was happenin’, Bill, Javier, and Ms. Adler banded together to go search for some work. The neighboring sheriffs were bound to have some bounties pinned to their walls and there were plenty of wandering folk around to rob. With aims like theirs, John was sure they’d make do just fine.

That left Dutch, Hosea, John and Jack. John tried to join in on the other three’s search for work, maybe tag along to rob a homestead or take on a bounty, but he was denied right quick. They reiterated to him that he had to stay with Jack, like Arthur had spoken to them beforehand and set the line in the dirt, and ignored him all together when he insisted he come along.

“Can’t let you come along, John. Just how it is.” Javier barely even looked at him as he packed up his horse's saddlebags.

“Says who?” Javier eyed Bill, who eyed him back, and Ms. Adler rolled hers before mounting her horse and calling back to John as she started to leave without them.

“Was told the only thing you needed to do, John Marston, was stay here and look pretty. We’ve got this covered, right boys?” The other two ain’t even bother to nod, just mounted their steeds and left John standing there, a fool once again.

That got him real angry, a raging boil in his blood that he had to tamper down quick when he spotted Jack watching from afar, a wary expression on his young face. 

He got it, dammit, but he ain’t no damned housewife with homely duties. He was an outlaw who killed more men than he could damn well remember, stole more than he’d ever be able to count, and ran from the law every day of his life so why the hell was no one lettin’ him do his damned job? Even Dutch had stopped calling him over late into the night to ramble about rumors of incomin’ trains filled with riches or possible heists planned by the O’Driscolls that they could intercept. John didn’t think nothin’ of it at first, believin’ it to be put on hold to mourn their lost ones, but now it was obvious. 

John was officially crowned as Jack’s father and caregiver and everyone made up their mind that he was to give up his ways and just be that for the boy. Abigail would be singin’ to the heavens if she knew about it. She’d been trying to tie him down for years so that he could take care of the boy, so that they could be a  _ family _ , but all it took was for her to die for everyone else to make it happen. 

John walked over to Jack, keeping a neutral expression to retain his anger off of the boy and Jack looked down at his feet. John lifted a hand to rest on the boy's head, rustling his hair and drawing his eyes back up to him.

“Go on, Jack. Pearson’s got to cookin’ and you need to eat. Then we’ll get to work.”

“Yes, sir.” Jack spoke softly. He never was a loud kid. Jack was a listener and did as he was told. Atleast John could be thankful for that. He didn't know what he’d do if he had to tame a wild child like himself back in the day. As Jack walked off, John laughed to himself as he briefly remembered all the times Arthur had chased him down and dragged back his cursing self until Dutch got to him. John had been scolded so many times by that man that he could recite the exact speech he gave every time.

_ You, boy, need to hold yourself proper and stop this runnin’ of yours. You want to be a man? Well, smart men don’t run. Smart men stick together and fight together. You really want to go back out there all by yourself? Then be my guest, but I see something in you and I know you can do great things but those great things won’t happen if you run off again. And next time, we won’t come after you. _

They always came after him.

John liked to think that despite being a handful, he made things more exciting for the men. They’d argue they didn’t need any more excitement considering their occupation but John begged to differ. Excitement was all you craved as an outlaw and he was just keepin’ them on their toes.

*

Three more days passed before Mrs. Grimshaw stepped up to him when John returned from his watch. She had her hands on her hips and a smirk on her face as he approached. John was wrackin’ his head for what he may have possibly done wrong, getting ready for some kind of scolding by the look she was giving him.

“Imagine my surprise when the first thing Arthur Morgan asks for is you.” Sarcasm dripped from her tongue and that made John stop.

“Me?” Mrs. Grimshaw just shook her head with an exaggerated roll of her eyes before twisting her chin in the direction of the tent the older man was in.

“Go on. He’s been waitin’.”

She was already walking off before John could ask anymore questions. He just raised his eyebrows at her back before setting his rifle down with the rest of the guns and made his way over to the tent. He pushed back the flaps and squinted into the dim lighting as he stepped inside, spotting Arthur lying back on the cot, looking just as he had the day John had carried him in there, except his complexion was a little brighter.

His eyes stayed closed, despite John not really makin’ an effort to be quiet, and his chest rose steady and high with each deep breath. For all John knew, the older man could’ve been sleeping again and that made John want to step out of the tent. He could come back later, he didn’t need to disturb the man’s rest.

“Marston.” 

That made him stop. John looked over his shoulder, having already turned his back to leave, and was struck by the bright blue hue of Arthur’s eyes staring right at him, vibrant and awake like he wasn’t asleep a second ago.

“Arthur. Thought you was sleepin’.”

“Was. Can’t no more with you stompin’ around.” The older man was slow to push himself up. John stepped forward to help but Arthur rose a hand and swung his legs over the side and slouched with his elbows resting on his thighs. He looked like shit, but better than before so that counts for something.

“Heard you was askin’ for me from Mrs. Grimshaw. Wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Yeah, well, seems like I should have asked for someone else. You’d be good to work on your bedside manner, boy.”

“Dammit, Morgan, if this is all you wanted me for then I don’t got time for this-” 

Arthur always knew how to get under John’s skin. His words were nothing, but it was the inflection of his voice that sunk deep into John’s bones and rattled him. He played around with John, teased him relentlessly and pressed his buttons for the hell of it. And with Arthur coming down sick only to rag on John the moment he woke up, well, dammit, John had better things to do.

He lifted a foot and twisted to stomp out of the tent but before he could get far, a firm grip circled his forearm and held him in place. John looked at Arthur, a little taken aback by the amount of strength the sick man still had. Maybe Arthur really was made of iron.

“Sit down, John.” And just as Arthur had a way with teasing, he had a way with commanding too. He only let go of John when he started to sit down on a small barrel across from the older man, and scrubbed his hand through his hair when it didn’t seem like John was gonna move.

“Why’d you ask for me, Arthur?”

“Can’t I see a friend without it seemin’ like I want something from ya?”

“Don’t know. Wasn’t sure that’s what we were.”

Arthur gave him a look, a calculatin’ one where his eyes squinted and he pursed the corner of his mouth. Sure, they grew up together. Arthur probably had taught John everything he knew and then some, but things had been rocky since John disappeared for a year. They still looked out for each other, old habits dying hard, but they weren’t exactly chattin’ like they used to. Things were just amicable. Amicable and tense. Not much more than that. 

Arthur let out a long sigh and sat back a little in the cot.

“I’ve seen what you’ve been doing here at the camp; helpin’ where there needs helpin’. I can appreciate that. You’re a good man, Marston, and when you feel as tired as me right now, that’s the kind of man you want to be around.”

“What about the others? Lenny, Charles? They not good men?”

“Sure they are. Good,  _ loud _ men that I might put a bullet in if they so much as come in here. There’s no restin’ when they’re around.” John shook his head at that, resting his cheek on his fist with a smirk.

“Ain’t wrong about that.”

“Don’t let that ego of yours get too big, now. Just ‘cause you ain’t loud don’t mean you’re perfect.”

“Shut up.” John couldn’t help but let out a laugh. As much as Arthur could get under his skin, John kind of missed this. 

Arthur laughed too, but it quickly morphed into a cough that wouldn’t quit. John jumped up and grabbed the closest bottle and passed it over to him and the man struggled to take his first sip. By the time he had got somethin’ in him, sweat covered his forehead and the wheeze John heard before lingered under each inhale.

“C’mon, Morgan. Get back in bed. I’ll come back another time.” He pushed Arthur back by his shoulders, guiding him down onto the cot and Arthur didn’t put up any fight. John looked around and spied the bucket and cloth sitting next to the cot and, although he wasn’t completely sure why, put himself to work. Arthur just breathed as John clumsily wiped along his face, the cloth saturated with enough water to send droplets slipping along Arthur’s skin and into his eyes. John found himself quietly apologizing as he tried to brush those away. It didn’t seem to bug Arthur too much. All he did was grumble unintelligibly and weakly rub at his eyes.

“You ain’t no Mrs. Grimshaw.”

“Yeah, well, it’s your fault for thinking I could be.”

“Hm. ‘snice, though.”

John turned back after disposing the cloth and bucket and looked down at Arthur. His eyes were still shut but his face was tilted slightly towards him. He wasn’t coughing no more and his breathing sounded a little steadier, which was good, but he looked real tired. Some of his hair was sticking to the skin of his forehead and neck and John felt his hand twitch to brush it back. He used to do that for Abigail, when she worked tirelessly all day and came back to the tent covered in dust and sweat. He held himself back this time. It’s just, with Arthur? He couldn’t.

Instead, John pulled a blanket tangled under the man’s legs and haphazardly draped it over him, his sudden awkwardness guiding his movements, and Arthur groaned when half his face got covered. 

“Too hot,” was all the man grumbled as he tried to push the offending item off of him.

“You’ll freeze to death without it, old man.” John tugged it back up, just under the man’s shoulders this time and Arthur didn’t try to move it again. Sleep was pulling at him and he was succumbin’ fast. John stepped back this time, looking over Arthur before deciding to leave. It was good to see that Arthur could get up, but he still wasn’t in the best shape. John just hoped he pulled through.

As the next week passed, John eased through his routine at camp. It was broken down into upkeep, watch, Jack, and Arthur. He had tried again on multiple occasions to head out on a job, but he got denied every time. He even approached Dutch about it, but the man put his foot down on the matter. Dutch’s excuse was that they needed to lie low, real low, and they needed men at camp in case the O’Driscolls or the Law caught onto their scent. Dutch promised that he would have a job for him soon, but he had to stay put for now. John would have believed his words if it weren’t for the fact that nearly every day, the others were heading out like nothing changed. 

No one else was being forced to stay.

Just John.

So, with that working against him, John filled his time with everything else. Jack seemed to appreciate the time they spent together and John did enjoy teaching the boy about the tasks he put him on. Jack also liked to listen to stories of past jobs. John told him a few, but he kept the details light. The boy, being as old as he was, didn’t need to hear about all the killings of innocents who got caught in the middle of their messes, or the brave yet stupid bystanders hoping to rake in the money the gang had intended to rob. John wouldn’t lie to him and he knew the boy heard the details in the stories Bill or Dutch told, but John wouldn’t be the one to add to that. If Abigail knew that, she’d be proud of him.

Part of John didn’t want the boy to know how much of a bad man he was, how ruthless and cold he could be. Another part wanted to protect the boy from the life he was surrounded by. John wanted those stories to turn into fairy tales for the boy to tell when he was older, with the galavance and naivety of someone who never experienced it first hand, instead of turning into unwanted memories. The things you saw as an outlaw, as a robber and murderer, those things ain’t never going away.

So John kept things simple and short and Jack didn’t complain or push for more, and their time together was easy enough. When John sent the boy off to help the girls or take some time to do his own thing, John always found himself back in the tent with Arthur. Mrs. Grimshaw was surprised the first time he suddenly showed up, but now, with how much he kept coming by, she simply passed off her duties onto him and went to attend something else. 

The first time she shoved the cloth and bucket into his arms and started rattling off which medicines to give and that she’d be back before sunset, John was left speechless. She wouldn’t even let him get a word in edgewise. She was gone before he could argue, leaving John with no chance to tell her he was just stopping in and he would be out of her hair in a minute. Mrs. Grimshaw instead smirked and shook her head as she pushed out of the tent before he could collect himself.

Now, not only was he designated a family man for Jack, he was also apparently Arthur’s nursemaid. 

Jesus Christ, just what he needed.

The amount of shit he got from Morgan when the man woke up to John wiping his face with a cool cloth again almost had the younger man tossing said cloth across the tent and reaching out to strangle him. Instead, John smacked the wet cloth over Arthur’s face and stomped out of the tent for a few minutes before stomping back in and forcing a healing potion down the older man’s throat. Arthur was laughing and coughing the whole time, too amused to care about John’s rough treatment.

“You’re really not cut out for this, kid.”

“Shut up, Morgan. And I ain’t a kid!”

“If Jack ever gets sick, you best let the girls take care of him. Don’t think he’d take too kindly to this sort of treatment.”

“This sort of “ _ treatment” _ is specially reserved for you, you bastard.”

“I’m that special, huh?”

“Shut  _ up _ , Morgan.”

That stupid grin of his only served to irritate John more, but Arthur stayed quiet and John kept working. Most days were like this, the two of them naggin’ back and forth until Arthur lie amused and John was left annoyed. A mirror image of when they were kids.

There were other times, though, when they’d settle down from their teasing and Arthur would ask about Jack. The way he asked it, it was more than just being polite. Arthur seemed to care about the boy. He even told John to bring Jack with him when he got a little better. That really surprised John, but what  _ really _ stopped him in his tracks was when Arthur praised him for being a good father to Jack.

It had come out of nowhere the first time. The two of them were sitting in silence, John cleaning his knife and Arthur staring at the tent roof. John nearly cut his finger along the blade when Arthur’s voice filled the small space, his head jerkin’ up so fast he could feel the resulting ache.

“You’re doing a good job, John. For Jack. You’re a good father.”

“What?”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“I-” His gut was tight and his air supply was short and Arthur’s words hit him like a train. John wasn’t expecting the words to mean so much to him. The validation was… he wasn’t expecting how much he needed to hear it and because of it, everything started to spill out, “I… I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to talk to kids. Jack deserves-”

“My daddy drank every day away with a bottle of Whiskey and whipped me more times than the stubborn mules out back. From my experience, I’d say you’re doing alright, Marston.”

John didn’t have any words after Arthur said that. They just stared at each other for a little while, blue and brown eyes glued to each other as John absorbed what Arthur just told him. He didn’t thank the older man out right, but he jerked his head in a nod before dropping his gaze and resuming his task of cleaning his knife. He could feel Arthur’s eyes still on him, but he ain’t said nothin’ about it.

John started to stick to Arthur’s side a little more since then, like he craved the reassurance the older man silently provided every time he started to doubt himself. Arthur had always seemed to notice when he did and came through with grounding pats to his shoulder and small comments.

“Jack’s a good kid and so are you, John. Stop worrying so much.”

“I’m ain’t worryin’.” He lied.

“If you ain’t worrying, then I’m a rich man.”

“Shut up, Arthur.”

It was appreciated though, but John was still stubborn. He’d never admit it, but it didn’t seem like Arthur needed him to. He just kept on reminding him.

“You’re good, Marston. You’re good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, there it is. The official start to my fic. I really hope y'all liked it. Please, feel free to leave me a comment and let me know what you think. I appreciate any feedback! 
> 
> Chapter two is already written (I'll probably go through it again and check for grammar) and will come next week!
> 
> Bye for now!


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter 2!

Another few months went by and the Van der Linde gang had found itself a new normal. Arthur got back up on his feet after another week or so of John takin’ care of him and that meant that camp funds went up, food was stocked and fresh, and everyone felt a little more comfortable for what felt like the first time in a long time.

John was tending to his horse, a sweet seal brown thoroughbred who never let anyone on him when they first picked him up. Dutch was intending to sell the animal but John was adamant he could earn the horse’s trust. Dutch left him to it, thinking it was about time John learned something the hard way. For a whole two weeks, John spent all of his free time with the horse, talkin’ to him, sittin’ with him, leaving him food and brushin’ his coat when he was allowed close enough to do so. He even spent the warm nights curled up on the ground close by, falling asleep against a mound of hay while the horse eyed him suspiciously. Sooner or later, that horse would let John ride him. John would make sure of it.

Imagine Dutch’s surprise when John had come trotting over, high on his new steed, with the biggest grin he’d ever stretched across his face.

_ Well, I’ll be damned. What are you goin’ to call him? _

Old Boy was the best damned horse John ever had. He was fast, he was strong, and he was fearless. When you’re an outlaw like John, that’s the kind of horse you needed.

So as he brushed Old Boy’s coat once more, spoiling him with a few oat crackers he swiped from Pearson while he wasn’t lookin’, Arthur trotted over on his own horse. The man was efficient in hitchin’ his horse and swaggering his way over to John, taking off his wide brimmed hat and grinning like he had a secret.

“Well howdy, John!” The sun was shining right into the man’s eyes but it did nothing to dim that smile of his. John couldn’t help but feel suspicious. A look like that usually meant no good for him.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“What d’ya mean? I feel as good as I always do!”

“Don’t try playing me for a fool, Morgan. What are you hidin’?” 

John stepped back from the man, his slight shift from pleasantly calm to on guard caused Old Boy to stomp his hoof and snort. Arthur’s smile eased a bit and he raised his hands placatingly, calming the horse with gentle words and laughing when the two continued to eye him like he was about to start shootin’.

“Alright, alright, calm down now. Meant to be, the two of you,” another pat to the stallion’s neck and then Arthur was brushing aside his coat to reach into his satchel, “Heard you was wantin’ one of these, Marston. Found her on some bandit that tried to ambush me a days back. Pretty lucky, if I say so myself.”

From the satchel came a dark glint of metal and then the blocky shape started to form and John’s eyes widened. Even with scratches and dirt, the Hutton & Baird Volcanic Pistol was shining up at him from Arthur’s hand. It was a real thing of beauty, completely inconspicuous in design but it had plenty of power to knock a man off his feet with one well aimed bullet. John’s always wanted one, but they cost too much and they were pretty rare otherwise. It was damn lucky for Arthur to find one.

“How in the hell-”

“Go on, take it. Got it for you.”

John reached for the gun and wrapped his hand around the barrel, his fingers accidentally brushing along Arthur’s palm and he briefly felt the roughness of the older man’s skin, but he didn’t say anything and neither did Arthur. He was too caught up in the weapon now in his hands. He turned toward the treeline away from anyone and aimed, checking the sights and testing the weight of it. It damn near fit like a glove, the perfect addition to his being, and an excited breath rushed out of him.

He turned back to Arthur, ready to thank him, but got caught on the easy smile and the crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes. The older man’s hip was resting against the hitching post and he looked real relaxed and pleased, blue eyes locked on John in a way that made John feel like he was the only other person there and it sent a series of shivers down his spine. Even when Arthur was being friendly, he was overwhelming, and John struggled to wrap his head around it.

“No thanks needed, John, but there might be a bit of a catch.”

“A catch?” John's sudden joy morphed back into suspicion. He didn’t like the sound of that at all.

“Yep. So I need you to listen.” The man still had his jovial expression, but there was something else lingering under his words, something more serious. John  _ really _ didn’t like the sound of that. 

Arthur pushed himself off the post, replacing his hat on his head, and took a step closer to John. Arthur was still looking at him, looking down his nose an inch or two because of the difference in their heights, but his eyes subtly flickered around John like he was looking out for the others. John watched Arthur, noticing the man’s brow furrow as he fell into deep thought. Something was nagging him.

“You’re thinkin’ real hard over there. What’s going on, Arthur?”

“Hm,” the lack of amusement or any kind of comeback put John on edge. Arthur didn’t answer him for what felt like hours. The man seemed troubled over something and from under the brim of his hat where shadow started to creep in, it was drawing dark circles under his eyes and accentuating the lines in his face. Arthur wasn’t really that old, maybe in his mid-thirties but it seemed the weight of his time was catching up to him. John waited a little longer, trying not to push, but he had never been one for patience.

“Arthur-”

“You need to stay in camp, John.” 

That’s not what he was expecting.

“What?”

“Stay in camp. Stay with your boy and keep out of anything else.”

“Jesus Christ, Morgan, you take me for an idiot?”

John knew what this was about and he was real tired of this conversation. If he had to listen one more time to all the reasons he needed to quit being an outlaw and start being a father to Jack then he was going to start shooting something. 

“Don’t you start this again. I’ve had enough of being told what to do. It ain’t any of your business-” Arthur cut him off, abruptly stepping into John’s space, barely leaving a few inches between them. The older man grabbed John by the arms and forced him to look him in the eye. John tried to pull away but the man was as strong as an ox.

“God dammit, Marston, I said listen to me.” Arthur growled out but kept his voice low, clearly having no time for patience, “I’m not askin’. You don’t know what’s going on. Things are gettin’ worse out there. Dutch- the man has always been stirring up trouble in the wrong places, taking risks,  _ big ones _ , and bullets are goin’ to fly. If he tells you to go out there, don’t do it, John. You hear me? Don’t do it. I need you stay here where it’s safe.”

There was a real franticness to the older man’s voice and a wild look in his eyes that was determined to get John to understand whatever he was trying to say. John was having trouble understanding. For one thing, he never heard Arthur talk about Dutch in anything close to a negative manner, at least not like this. He never talked back to Dutch and the man was pretty much Arthur’s father. Arthur grew up learning everything he knew from him, so why the change? Dutch had always been off his rocker but that’s what drew everybody in. And they’ve always done big jobs, risky ones where there was a greater chance of ending up dead than actually collecting anything. Why was Arthur so… worried?

John wouldn’t inquire though, couldn’t, because even with the confusion, his anger came first. How dare Arthur try and tell him what to do. John let the older man spew whatever advice he wanted to give, let him push John towards Jack by denying his help, but this wasn’t the easy side steps and easy words. This was an order and John did not take orders from no one, not if he could help it.

“You can’t tell me what to do, Morgan. In fact, you’ve crossed the line enough as it is,” John pushed Arthur back this time, using both hands to put his weight behind it. The Volcanic Pistol went too, its body being pressed into Arthur’s chest. John let it go as he pulled away, leaving Arthur to catch it before it hit the ground at their feet, “You been telling everyone to keep me here, haven’t you? No one lets me out, even if I want to go! And Dutch- he talks to me about nothing! Like hell he’ll give me a job. But you? You got no right ordering me around like some woman, telling me to be with Jack like your my damned husband. I’m a  _ man _ , you sonofabitch, and I don’t need to listen to no one, ‘specially not you!”

Arthur tried to reach out for John to convince him otherwise.

“Marston, I’m serious-!”

“Screw off, Arthur.” John was stomping towards the opposite edge of camp before the man could say another word. Arthur didn’t follow after him but John could feel those blue eyes on his back until he slipped through the tree line. John ended up sitting on a fallen log within the trees and lit himself a cigarette. One smoke became two then became three and the back of John’s throat started to burn but the burn felt good. It was rough enough to distract him from what just happened.

What the hell was the matter with that bastard? Where does he get off trying to bribe and order John around like that? He ain’t a kid, he ain’t some underling, and he sure as hell ain’t a fool. 

God  _ dammit _ , Arthur.

After going through a handful of them, the cigarettes had fizzled out John’s anger and now he just felt tired. Because of the shit that man pulled, it felt like Arthur and John were back at step one except the amiability was gone. Now it was just tense.

A stick cracked behind him.

When John turned to look over his shoulder, Jack was standing there. The boy approached and took a seat next to John, leaving enough space for another; a habit for when Abigail was still around. John turned back to look into the woods and felt the boy’s eyes on him, but they didn't say anything for some time. When the sun started to creep towards the horizon, peaking out at the two from between the trees, Jack spoke up.

“You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. I’ll be fine.” Jack fiddled with a thread in his shirt, wrapping it around his finger and tuggin’. Abigail would have swatted his hand if she saw. John let the boy be.

“Can’t get rid of me, Jack. Got nowhere to be but here.” It had come out a little dejected, but Jack didn’t mention it. The boy bit his lip and snapped the thread from his shirt.

“I- I know you don’t like being here, in the camp. That you’d rather go out with the others instead of being stuck with us.” It was Jack’s turn to sound dejected and when John turned to look at the boy, he had his chin tucked to his chest and his fingers curlin’ into his pants. Despite the steadiness of the boy’s voice, he looked terribly upset and John felt a dropping in his gut.

“Jack-”

“I heard you with Uncle Arthur. And before with Ms. Adler and the others. You said you can’t be kept here, that you’ve got a job and-” Jack lifted his head as he said it, his voice risin’ with the sudden emotion in his words and John quickly placed a hand at the crook of the boy’s shoulder and neck, squeezing softly to get his attention and to cut him off before the boy got loud enough for the others to hear.

“Enough, Jack, quiet down.” He spoke softly. Jack did as he was told, biting down on his words and dropping his head again. John squeezed his hand once more then dropped it to rub tiredly at his face, scratching his nails through his growin’ stubble and then up and over his eyes. 

“It’s gettin’ too late to talk about this right now. Go on back to the tent and get some rest. In the morning? We’ll go fishin’. Then we can talk. That alright with you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. Now go on.”

Jack got up and wandered off, leaving John alone on the log. John leaned over to bury his face in his palms, the weight of Arthur and Jack hanging over him like a cloud that he couldn’t bring himself to deal with in that moment. 

He’ll handle it in the morning, he told himself. He’ll get things sorted with Jack, and then figure out what the hell to do with Arthur.

In the morning. 

It’ll all be good in the morning.

*

The two of them left the camp just as the sun was peeking back up over the horizon. They weren't going far, Flat Iron Lake had plenty of real estate to choose from. John didn’t want to be too close to camp, though, so he kept his eye out for a nice cut of the lake where the fish were biting a few miles off.

Jack was quiet. John could barely feel the hold on his jacket as his son sat behind him on Old Boy and would occasionally peek over his shoulder just to make sure Jack was still there and that he didn’t fall off along the way. 

The boy looked tense.

John chose not to bring up the conversation they had last night and he wouldn’t until they were finally settled in a nice, open wash of the lake where there was plenty of water to see and lots of fish biting at the morning flies along the surface. Maybe they’d be able to bring back some sturgeon or largemouth bass if they were lucky.

When they baited their hooks and cast their lines, the world seemed to come together to create a peaceful morning for the two. There was a gentle breeze coming through that caressed their skin and rustled their clothes, slipping through the fibers just enough that John was glad he wore a coat. He could feel the gooseflesh rise on his skin and he checked over to Jack to see the boy tugging his coat a little tighter around himself, most likely feeling the same way. It was always cooler by the water, but Autumn was also on his way.

They fished in silence for a little while, not catchin’ much despite the activity in the water. Jack didn’t say anything or look at John much during the whole thing, and John didn’t want the two of them to sit with this elephant between them for much longer. So, with all the finesse and elegance that John possessed, or lack thereof, he jumped right in from where they left off the night before.

“I won’t lie to you, Jack, about wantin’ to leave. I have a hard time bein’ stuck in one place. It’s not the life I know.” John kept his eyes on the water, honestly a bit hesitant to see the look on the boy’s face, but eventually he turned to find Jack not looking at him at all. Jack only frowned and reeled his line in a little. Then he spoke.

“I know that and you shouldn’t stay if you don’t want to, but…” The boy turned to stare right into John’s eyes. He wasn’t even paying attention to his line anymore even as the nibbling turned into a bite that tugged the line real obvious until finally it stilled, fish lost, “If you leave, will you… Are you gonna come back?”

That… that wasn’t at all what he was expecting. He just looked at the boy, taking him in. Jack had gotten tall for his young age, sproutin’ up like a weed. His once sandy hair was starting to darken underneath, finally matching the hue of Johns and Abigails, and his eyes were deep and muddy. He was starting to look like John, even at his young age, and John wanted to beat himself over the head for ever doubting that he could have been someone else’s son.

“The work I do… there isn’t always a guarantee. I’ve been lucky so far but luck runs out, Jack. I can only promise that I would try. I will always try to come back.” 

That boy has always managed to keep John on his toes, surprising him left and right. Like right now, John had turned his head as he said those words to the water and as soon as he finished, Jack barrelled into his side with his arms wrapping around John’s waist and holdin’ on real tight. John didn’t know what to do at first. He dropped his fishing rod out of instinct but his hands were left hovering over the boy, afraid to touch, until Jack squeezed a little tighter and John dropped a hand to the boy’s hair and the other came around his shoulders. It hurt to acknowledge, but that may have been the first time that John had hugged his son. 

He should have done it a lot sooner.

If he had, then John might have already known what it was like to hold on a little tighter. He might have known what it was like to step back from his son, put his hand on the back of the boy’s neck, and offer a smile that every father should give their son. If he had already done this before, he’d have been able to see Jack smile back at him, with as much understanding as a son can have for their father’s choices and sacrifices, and John may have been able to feel the ease in his mind from that sentiment.

But John hadn’t done this before and he wouldn’t know what all that was like because they weren’t granted a chance to ease out of that hug. They were torn apart instead.

It all happened in a blur, John too encompassed by Jack to realize that three men rushed forward and yanked the two of them apart. John could hear Jack’s yell over his own but John’s was cut short by a man leaning over him, his rancid breath washing over his face. 

The man reared an arm back and pummeled a fist into John’s jaw. He immediately tasted blood from his newly split lip. His vision sparked a bit from the force of the hit, but John was able to shake himself out of it and grapple the other man. He swung his own fist, catching the man’s chin, but the man recovered a lot faster than John and rained down punch after punch. John barely got an arm up to protect himself but the arm was ripped back and a final hit to the side of his face sent him choking into the dirt. 

John was dragged back up by the collar of his coat and forced to look at the man once more. John was able to take in his fine suit and the gleam of his watch peekin’ out from the edge of his sleek black gloves. His mousy blonde hair was glued back with product and his pencil mustache was neatly trimmed. The man had money, that was clear, but he sure was ugly. The man’s smile showed yellowing teeth. John spat blood at him, never one to back down from some asshole but all it got him was another knock to the side of his head. John coughed and went to swing his fist when a click of a gun echoed in his ear, a bullet rotating into the chamber of a sleek, black revolver. John froze.

“Well lookie here. Seems we’ve caught ourselves a Marston.” Came the voice of the man holding the gun.

“Ain’t that a lucky find.” 

The two men laughed together and John was dropped roughly to the dirt. There was now a rifle held by the yellow-toothed man and the revolver trained on him so he didn’t move, but his eyes jumped around frantically until they landed on Jack being held by the third man, his gun’s barrel pressed to the boy’s temple.

“Let him go, he’s just a boy.” John had no idea who these three were, but they weren’t some band of degenerates, not with the way they dressed all proper like. Worst of all, they knew John, knew his name.

While the man holding Jack pressed the barrel a little harder to the boy’s head, making Jack wince and gasp shakily, the other two ignored John’s plea.

“Mr. Marston. We’ve been looking for you for a while now. You remember us?” Now looking at the other man, the one with the revolver, John took him in. His hair was darker, but wisps of blonde highlighted the brown beneath it. His face was cleanly shaven which made him appear a lot younger, revealing a sharp jaw and surprisingly straight teeth - not nearly as yellow as the other man’s. John wracked his brain, trying to place their ugly faces somewhere in his memories but nothing came up. The men waited indifferently while he did, as if already bored with the situation, and John sneered up at them.

“Remember you? I’d remember my last shit better than the likes of you.” The man with the rifle growled, John clearly hitting a button for him, and swiftly kicked John in the side. John curled up with a grunt and the younger man with the revolver put a hand on his friend, stopping him from kicking John again.

“Shame, really, because we remember you. How could the McCourt brothers forget one of the men working for Dutch Van der Linde when he  _ executed _ my sweet Heidi. The coward who didn’t do a damned thing to stop him.”

“I don’t know what you're talkin’ about!” 

McCourt? Heidi? Dutch? There was a key piece of information that John was missin’ and it felt like an endless pit in his gut as he tried to connect it all. This whole situation was getting real danger, real fast. If they knew Dutch-

“A coward and an idiot, it seems. I really didn’t like you before, but the fact that you can’t even remember her  _ name _ … If there wasn’t something I wanted more right now, I’d kill you right here,” The younger man’s face twisted menacingly, his teeth bared and his nose flared, seconds away from having smoke billow out of his lungs. He leaned down real close, his body being framed by the greying sky above, and he took a real deep breath, “Let me give you another clue. Ever heard of  _ Blackwater _ ?”

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

John clenched his jaw real tight, feeling the muscle protrude from his face and his eyes stayed glued to the younger man. Fucking  _ Blackwater _ , that damned, cursed town always haunting his shadow. It was easy to remember now. The law surrounding them on all sides, their only option to shoot their way out, and a young woman happened to get caught up in it all and Dutch-  _ god dammit _ . 

The younger man above John started to smile when he realized he was finally on the same page.

“You remember now, boy? Remember my sweet Heidi and the bullet your leader put through her head? You thought it was just the law that was after you. That maybe folks would be optimistic to collect on your bounty. You and your precious leader, Mr. Dutch Van der Linde, did a lot more than break the law, boy.”

The man stood up, straightening himself and smoothing out his clothes while turning to look at Jack. The boy was visibly shaking, eyes darting from John to the men to their guns and John felt his heart clench in his chest.

“The boy had nothin’ to do with it, nothin’. You let him go and we’ll figure this out.”

“Heidi had nothing to do with your games, either. Nothing at all yet… she’s not here anymore,” The younger man turned back to John, “So here’s what’s gonna happen, Mr. Martson. You're gonna go get Dutch, bring him to Diablo Ridge, and then we’ll decide what to do about your boy. In the meantime, the boy is comin’ with us.”

“No-!”

“Yes, and I don’t want to be waiting forever. Think of it as motivation,” the younger man had begun to back away, replacing his revolver in his holster and turning his back to John. “It’s time we were off, Mr. Marston. I look forward to our next meetin’.” 

The man stepped back and John took his chance to shove himself up onto his elbows, ready to fight tooth and nail to get to Jack but it seemed the world was against him. The yellow-toothed man with the rifle, his growl echoing into John’s ears with Jack’s yell piercing through it, brought the butt of his gun down against John’s head and knocked him back. 

There wasn’t much to see but black after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta love a good, ol' fashioned cliff hanger. Let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Chapter three comes next week!


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome Back!
> 
> Here's chapter three. Let's see how Arthur helps out dear ol' John

“Marston!  _ Marston! _ Wake up!”

Wet. 

Wet and cold. 

Those were the first two things John felt. It started on his face where something was seeping into his eyes and between his lips. He kept swallowing, his throat rebelling, but it didn’t stop his body's automatic reaction to the tasteless liquid hitting the back of his throat. When a droplet tickled in just the right way, leading to a wave of coughing that shook him enough to force consciousness, that’s when John first recognized the wet for rain.

Then, he felt the pain.

As he choked through his coughs, the top of his head bloomed into something awful. John squeezed his eyes against the flash of white but he couldn’t stop the groan slipping out when he could inhale enough air. Beneath the bright pain was a throbbing on his jaw and cheek and his side, and he felt like he weighed a thousand pounds. He could barely hold himself up under his soggy clothes covered in mud. If it weren’t for the two hands holding his shoulders, he probably would have fallen over.

One of those hands eventually moved to his head, pushing back the mess of hair sticking to his face and wiping the water from his eyes. It helped John open them and when he did, his gut sank.

Seeing Arthur with the brim of his hat dripping water like a drainage pipe and his wide blue eyes watching John with a mix of concern and relief, present and real in front of him, well, it sent the last few memories John had straight into his head. 

They took Jack. They  _ took _ Jack.

“They took Jack,” he said it out loud, been sayin’ it. Arthur had been repeating his name over and over to bring John’s attention to him, but John was a gramophone with its needle stuck in a groove and he couldn’t stop. They took Jack. They took Jack.  _ They took- _

His head whipped to the side, his cheek now suddenly stinging and all his senses cleared up. When his shoulders were shaken once again, he whipped his head back to Arthur, this time spying Charles in the background looking at the muddied footprints in the ground and John felt like he could breathe again.

“ _ Who _ took Jack, John?  _ Who did _ ?”

John told Arthur. Told him everything he knew from the interaction he had with the McCourt brothers. He didn’t know their first names but they were from Blackwater. They wanted Dutch. They threatened John. They took Jack.

_ Diablo Ridge. _

Jack is at Diablo Ridge.

Arthur had his head dropped with his hands still on John’s shoulders for a moment after all the information was laid out. John was taking steadying breaths and blinking water from his eyes as he wracked his mind for what to do. He wanted to charge in there, guns blazing, but they’d kill his boy before he could get to him. He needed a better plan and he needed Arthur’s help.

He looked back to Arthur and the man raised his head. He looked hard at John, his jaw clearly clenched but whatever he was doing didn’t stop him from saying his next words.

“Dammit, Marston. I  _ told _ you to stay in camp-” 

John was throwing a punch in seconds, his fist landing right on Arthur’s nose. Arthur grunted and fell back on his ass, hand flying to his face but the trail of blood dripping from his nose was obvious. John went in for another hit.

“Damn you, Morgan! That’s all your care about?! They  _ have  _ my  _ son _ ! _ ” _ ”

Before John’s fist landed, a firm grip wrapped around his wrist and wrenched John back hard enough that he tripped over himself and landed back in the mud with a grunt. When John whipped his head around, still fueled by his anger, Charles was standing between the two men, his expression more dangerous than the thunder roaring in the distance.

“We don’t have time for this. It’s been raining too hard for too long and the tracks have been washed away. We need to get back to camp. Now.” Charles leaned over to Arthur and wrenched the man back onto his feet, then did the same to John before walking back to his horse, “Ride with Arthur, John. If we’re going to get the boy back, we cannot waste any more time.”

The man was mounted and racing off before the other two could reply. Arthur said nothing to John and whistled for his mare. 

“Hop on.”

John did so, making a smart choice to keep silent because anything he said in that moment would lead to another punch, and Arthur mounted the horse once John was settled. The race back to the camp was brutal. The rain lessened any visibility and the fast pace set for a rocky ride. John’s body was jostled left and right and he was forced to hold tight to Arthur with an arm around the man’s waist and groaned into his shoulder. It was a relief to dismount once they reached camp. Charles was standing with Dutch already, most likely having told him what John told Arthur, and the man was leaning heavily on a table with his head dropped. Everyone else was standing around, just watching. Seemed like no one cared about the rain. 

“They took my boy, Dutch. They took him!” John charged for Dutch the second his feet hit the ground, needing their leader's attention, and the man lifted himself from the table and used a hand on John’s shoulder to sit him down once he got close enough. 

“We will get your boy back, son. We will bring him back to you and we will  _ kill _ any fool who had the temerity to touch one hair on that boy’s head. You hear me, John? You have my word.”

“Bring him back to me? I’m coming with you! I’ll kill them all myself if I have to!” John pushed himself back up, ignoring the jolt of pain in his side and pulling away from Dutch. He was about ready to march over to his tent to grab any weapon he owned but Arthur stopped him easy. Dutch released a heavy sigh and shook his head.

“John. I am real sorry about your boy. I am, believe me, but these McCourt boys? They ain’t nice and you’ll get yourself killed coming with us like you are.”

“I’m  _ fine _ -”

“You know  _ nothing _ , son,” Dutch slammed his hand down on the table and John bit back his retort, “I have dealt with these men before and they are far more ugly than the rich clothes that they wear. You know how they make all that money, son? How they galavant from Blackwater all the way to Saint Denis without a spot of dirt on them and the finest liquors in their trunks? No, John, you don’t. You have no idea who you’ve encountered and, truly, I am so sorry that your boy is tied up in all of this.”

“What are you not tellin’ us, Dutch?” Arthur cut in, voice dead serious and his gaze heavy on their leader, “You seem to know a lot about these boys.” Besides John’s habit of childish bickering, Arthur was the only man in camp who could honestly question Dutch without fear of getting shot. That didn’t mean that Dutch liked what he had to say.

“What are you implying, Arthur Morgan?”

“Nothing. But there’s clearly somethin' you're not telling us that could very well get us all killed if what you say about them McCourt boys is true.”

The two men faced off, silently standing across from each other as the tension rose. The others around seemed to step back, leaving John right at the edge of what could turn into a possible duel. Dutch was giving off a cold air even as the rain poured down on them, Arthur’s public act of insubordination grinding into his gears, and this whole situation could quickly turn real bad, but Arthur had a point. Dutch was hiding something.

“Who’s Heidi?” Dutch whipped his head over to John, his anger now directed completely on him, “They told me about her, said you killed her that day in Blackwater. That the same girl we all heard about? Seems like one of them was sweet on her. Why’d you kill her?”

Dutch’s shoulders dropped an inch, a man now caught without a way out and knowing he was going to have to say something to appease the crowd. He raised a hand to wipe the water from his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose until he dropped it again on a frustrated breath.

“I had dealin’s with those boys. The McCourts are thieves, and powerful ones too. They keep all of their jobs hidden. No one, not even the Law knows what they’re doing. They trade - gold, moonshine, possessions, folks - all in bulk for big families around the country. I wouldn’t have found out myself if I didn’t happen across it behind the stables in Blackwater,” Dutch took a moment and a few unreadable, manic emotions flickering through his dark eyes before he continued on.

“They called themselves the best, but they were wrong. They aren’t the best thieves. We are,  _ I  _ am. I saw my opportunity and I  _ took it _ . Half of what we had in Blackwater was what  _ I  _ took from  _ them _ . Remember the whiskey barrels, the procession of stage coaches? It was easy and the only one who knew it happened was that young lady. I told her to keep her mouth shut, but how else do you think we got the Law and the Pinkerton’s on our asses so fast? The McCourt’s, the dirty bastards that they are, ratted us out instead of handling the problem like men and we lost  _ everything _ . I figured that if they were going to run us out of town, leave us with nothing but the shirts on our backs, then I’d take one last thing on my way out. Fairs is fair.”

All was quiet except for the growl rumbling out of Arthur.

“You hid that away from all of us, Dutch, and now those bastards have  _ Jack _ !”

“We will get him back.” Every word was punctuated with an open palm slamming into the table’s drenched surface. Dutch pushed himself away from the group, marching towards his tent and ending the conversation, “Get some rest! Can’t do  _ nothin _ ’ with this storm! We leave in the morning!” And like a final period to a sentence, the thunder from the grey clouds clapped as Dutch ducked into his tent and left everyone else drenched in the rain.

The sounds of the storm fell around them once more. Beneath all the pain in his body, John couldn’t focus on anything. His fists shook at his sides and the anxieties for his son wracked his mind. He felt like he failed, failed to protect his son. If Abigail was here, she’d-

“John,” He lifted his head to look at the man next to him. With how dark it had gotten, John could barely seek Arthur’s eyes beneath the brim of his hat, “C’mon now.”

John was pulled over to his tent and pushed gently inside. He thought he would be left there, but Arthur followed and closed the flaps behind him. He sat John down in the corner and without a word started rifling through his footlocker for a dry set of clothes. Then he started to search through his satchel and began pulling out little bottles and a cloth.

“Alright, let’s get you fixed up then.”

John didn’t know why he let him. He was still mad at Arthur for what he said, but he felt too exhausted to kick him out. Without his protest, Arthur started to pull at John’s wet coat and shirt and then instructed him to change into the dry trousers he pulled out. The older man averted his eyes while John did as he was told, then Arthur removed his hat and squinted his eyes as he took in the purpling bruises along his ribs and the wounds on his face.

“They really did a number on you.” Arthur poured something from one of the little bottles onto the cloth and reached up to wipe it along John’s forehead. It had a faint scent of sage and John just closed his eyes and let Arthur work but it had felt a little strange. Shouldn’t it be Mrs. Grimshaw or one of the girls doing this? 

“What are you doing, Arthur? Why you here?” 

Arthur pulled the cloth away to dampen another clean corner before pressing it to the bruises along John’s cheek, making him hiss under the slight pressure.

“You took care o’ me, while back. Figured I owed you one.”

“That was- I had nothing better to do, stuck at camp all day. You don’t owe me.”

“Sure, whatever you say, kid.”

“I ain’t a kid,” John tried to swat the man’s hand from his face and to duck his chin away but Arthur was having none of it so instead John tried to grab the cloth from him, “I’ll do it myself, Morgan. Just leave me alone.”

“Sit still, would ya?” Arthur knocked John’s hand back and used his free one to grab the side of John’s head, threading his fingers through John’s hair and holding him still. John was rendered frozen under the gentle strength in the older man’s grip and he felt his heart race in his chest. It was only then that John realized just how close the other man was to him, crouched down on a knee between his and leaning over to put his face right in John’s. 

Arthur’s eyes were concentrated on his wounds but John had to avert his so he wasn’t staring directly at the man. He looked to the side, but all he could see was Arthur’s wrist and that brought his focus to the sturdy fingers tangled in his hair where they pressed softly into his scalp. 

It was incredible just how gentle Arthur could be. John’s never been touched like that, not even by Abigail. She was soft but jagged, a pointy pressure applied to John that reminded him that she was always there. Arthur- Arthur was just overwhelming and confusing. Tough as iron but could melt like snow, huge and encompassing but as quiet as a mouse when he wanted to be. The man had the power to do whatever he wanted, take on anyone he wanted, but he mostly chose to stay out of it all so he could find himself a cozy corner and write in that damned journal. 

And with the way he was holding John, blocking his entire line of sight by simply leaning in an inch or two, Arthur inadvertently forced John to focus entirely on him without uttering a word. The cloth was gentle against his face, Arthur actually massaging his fingers softly into the muscle and helping John relax as he wiped along the wounds, and the hand in John’s hair was big and warm, a compress to soothe the ache. John’s shoulders had fallen, the tension draining out of him so completely that he might’ve fallen over if Arthur let go. He felt his eyes get heavy and all the exhaustion from the day really started to hit him. John pressed his head into Arthur’s hand, not really paying attention anymore to the world around him, and he faintly realized that the cloth stopped moving along his face. 

John lifted his eyes back to Arthur and the man was lookin’ back at him. John couldn’t read anything he was seeing, but with the rain still puttering outside and the low flame burning in the corner of his tent, it really felt like they were the only two people in the camp. Almost intimidated by the blue of his eyes, John dropped his gaze and spied the parting of Arthur’s mouth. His heart thumped in his chest.

This… John didn’t know what to call this. Something was changing.

“I’ll get Jack back, John,” John looked down further when he noticed Arthur’s free hand drop the cloth on his bent knee and reach back beneath his coat. There was the soft rustle of fabric before Arthur pulled his hand back out and brought the Volcanic Pistol within view. He reached forward, drawing John to lift up an open palm almost automatically, and Arthur placed it gently in it. He didn’t pull his hand back. Instead, he applied a firm pressure that caused John to curl his fingers around the weapon and to lightly graze Arthur's hand, rough and warm like he felt before. It felt like the oddest way to hold someone’s hand with something bulky and big inbetween, but neither man pulled away. Their eyes just lifted back to one another and stuck. “ _ We’ll _ get him back, I promise.”

Arthur, despite not saying the words, was apologizing. John could see it swimming in the older man’s blue eyes and could feel it in the cold metal of the gun.  _ We’ll  _ get him back, he said. We, as in Arthur and John, not Arthur and Dutch. 

John nodded, the only thing he could bring himself to do for fear of his anxieties about the fate of his son creeping into his words. Arthur’s other hand tightened fractionally in his hair, a nail scratching along his scalp and sending a shiver down John’s neck.

“You should rest.” Arthur started to pull away, choosing to let go of the gun and lengthen his legs to stand before pulling his other hand from John’s hair but John reached up and wrapped his fingers around Arthur’s forearm before he could get too far.

“Arthur… Thank you.”

The man watched John, eyes hopping from one spot on his face to another, and then he nodded. Arthur picked up his hat from the ground but didn't replace it on his head, his jaw clenching slightly as he looked off to the side. John waited, almost hoping that Arthur would say something else and make the conversation last a little longer, didn’t matter so long as Arthur stayed. After everything, John wanted Arthur to  _ stay _ .

It almost looked like the older man wanted to stay, too.

“Night, John.” and with that, the man left and John’s silent wish was whisked away. The rain thundered its melody into the tent when the flap was pulled back and it dulled once it fell closed behind the older man. John was left sitting there in his tent, fingers curled around his new pistol, alone and surprisingly warm despite the lack of shirt.

“Night, Arthur.” He whispered to the empty space, knowing the man was too far to hear him even if he yelled it. 

Maybe John would get some rest that night because of the confidence Arthur had in him. Maybe the slightest wink of sleep so he could be in a better state to go after Jack in the morning. But maybe not because intermingled with his worries for his son and prayers for his well being, little blips of wonder would pop up about Arthur. 

The man was an enigma, being everything and nothing all at once. He was somehow the only one who could bring a touch of peace to John’s frantic mind during this tumultuous time while simultaneously sending his heart racing because of the phantom heat of his hand on John’s head. It left him grateful and confused, calm for the first time in hours yet antsy in his bones. John didn’t know how to process it all, but at the same time, he was comforted by having something else to think about.

John really meant what he said before.

God Bless Arthur Morgan.

God Bless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short but thank you for reading!  
> Chapter 4 will be longer, promise. See ya next week :)


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget, I promise!! Sorry for posting so late! Crazy day at work so I didn't have time but here it finally is!
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy!

John had only been to one other place that gave off the same feeling as Diablo Ridge, back when he was out west and long before he was scooped up by Dutch off the steps of the gallows. It was a place that made you feel like there was nowhere else to turn- trapped, vulnerable, weak. It put you in your place and reminded you about how small you really were and how easy it would be to snuff you from this mortal coil.

John was young, too young, and scrappy enough to take any risk worth spying during that period of his life but this time around it got him into an incredible mess. Apparently, the 3 cans of beans and the pretty gold pocket watch he swiped from the saddlebags of some group of degenerates was worth enough to be chased by them for two days straight.

John had no idea where he was running to and his half beaten horse was panting pretty heavy. The mare was old and thoroughly run down by the time they were runnin’ along the rim of the largest chasm John had ever seen. She keeled over not long after that and John, swearing up a storm, was left with the great big wonder that was the sky painted above him for as far as the eye could see and the knife’s edge that fell down, down, down into the lowest grave a man could fall into. 

Without his horse, John couldn’t bring all of the cans he took with him. All he had was the clothes on his back, a rusted pistol on his belt, and a small sack with a few stolen goods and a few errant bullets stuffed inside. He couldn’t putter about, either, since the men were still on his tail and he was now caught out in the open with no places to hide.

With the dead horse acting as the biggest red flag to indicate that John would be right around the corner, the men found John quickly and they circled around him at the edge. John had no choice but to fight. The men were cocky, stupid, as they ganged up on him. They couldn’t wait to teach this kid a lesson but John, despite his age, was quick. He’d been practicing, lining up bottles and watching them explode for hours at a time. His draw was lightning fast and he shot two of the men in seconds. One of the men, real stupid like, charged at John. He managed to knock John’s gun out of his hand but the kid still managed to side step out of his grasp. The man went flying over the edge. John could still hear the terror in his voice, the way his vocal cords stretched so far his voice cracked and pitched in wide-eyed fear. 

That moment made the last man still, realizing his odds were not as great as he once thought. That didn’t mean he weren’t angry. He was smarter in his approach, choosin’ to step closer and pull John away from the edge by his collar and throwing him to the ground. The man climbed over him, laughing in his face, and pulled out a knife from his belt. John squirmed, jerked, and bucked to get out. He was panicking with the knowledge that he had seconds before it could all be over. He screamed and grunted and cursed but that only made the man laugh harder. 

The man laughed so hard he coughed and John took his chance. He reached for the knife that the man held but he had also spied another glinting at him from the man’s boot. While distracted by John's first action, the man completely missed the other knife until it was entering the side of his throat. He gurgled and choked, freezing over John long enough to pour his blood all over him until he keeled over to the side. John wiggled out from under the man, gasping for air as the adrenaline continued to rush through him, and he suddenly was choking through tears. He kept scrambling back with his eyes narrowed in on the body until his hand landed on nothing and he fell back at the edge. John screamed and yanked himself away, curling his legs to his chest and staring out at the sharp drop off in the rock that nearly took him. John couldn’t recall how long he sat there, curled around himself, covered in blood and tears and surrounded by three dead men. 

No one would ever know, but that was the first time John took a man’s life. A young boy turned murderer was left with nothing but the great sky above and the chasm below to mock him, to let him dwell in his deed. John had a sick feeling of wanting to run in, hop over the edge and let the large mouth swallow him, but the scream from the man washed that away right quick. He was left with his fear, his guilt, his horror, and his whole body shook and shook until he passed out from exhaustion.

John was shaking now, crouched within the trees boarding the edge of a clearing just before Diablo Ridge’s drop off. The clearing had a camp, the McCourt’s men guarding all edges with their guns ready. They looked professional like, their clothes clean, their weapons clean, even their shoes still shined in the morning sun. 

Charles was next to him and he felt the man’s hand on his shoulder. Charles offered John a reassuring nod and John returned one of his own but it didn’t quell any of his nerves. He couldn’t see Jack from where he was. Was his boy even here at all? Was this a trap? A lie? How could it not be.

They brought the whole gang with them. Dutch was up front with his binoculars and Arthur was off to the other side. John could feel his eyes on him every so often, but he never caught the older man looking. Bill and Lenny and Hosea were somewhere buried in the trees, flanking the camp and waiting for Dutch’s signal.

It felt like an hour before Dutch lowered the binoculars and raised his hand. John stood. The plan was for them to go in, start the proceedings with the McCourts, and as soon as Jack was in sight, the rest of them would rush in. It was a dumb plan, someone was going to get killed, but Dutch wouldn’t have it any other way, always the leader and the “Martyr” who seemed to always let someone else die for his cause.

John reached Dutch and they broke through the tree line. Not even a second passed before they had a row of guns trained on them. Someone from the camp called out and that’s when John saw the younger McCourt brother walk out of one of the larger tents set up followed by the other two men from before.

“Mr. Marston, my boy, good work,” His smile was huge, overjoyed to see  _ the _ Dutch Van der Linde standing before him just as he requested, “If the circumstances were different, I would recruit you to be one of my own. Shame though, Mr. Marston. A real shame,” He turned his attention onto Dutch, “It has been a long, long time, hasn’t Dutch Van der Linde?”

“It has, Thomas. James, Lyle.” Dutch nodded his greetings to the two other brothers. They bared their teeth.

“You look just the same. Maybe a bit uglier. Had some hard days, Mr. Van der Linde? You left Blackwater in a hurry. Must have been hard pulling yourself back up after that.” His smile turned into a sneer and his eyes sparked. Thomas McCourt was really enjoying himself. Dutch didn’t react. He ran his eyes over Thomas, over his camp, and then tilted his head.

“It’s been just fine.”

“You’re a liar, Dutch. You had nothing but shit in your pants and blood on your hands when you left.”

“That may be, Thomas, that may be, but the blood kept me  _ warm _ .”

Thomas drew his gun, pointing the black barrel at Dutch’s head and growled.

“I look forward to killin’ you, to watching your blood stain the dirt at my feet. Every. Last. Drop of it.” His thumb pulled back the hammer, the gears clicking as the chamber loaded. John stepped forward, using his body to block Dutch and hovered a hand over his hip where his pistol was.

“Not until I get my son. We had a deal! Where is he?” Thomas held his stare with Dutch for a minute more before sliding it over to John. He cocked his head and offered a condescending smile. John’s fingers itched to shoot the man, far too impatient for whatever bullshit he was going to pull. 

“Your boy needs to learn some patience, Dutch.” John bristled when Thomas spoke about him like he wasn’t even there.

“I think he’s well in his right to not have any.” Dutch drawled back.

“Silly me to think that politeness was a part of your standards. I thought you said you were better than common thieves. My mistake.” James and Lyle laughed with Thomas, a gaggling group of coyotes with the sounds they were making.

“That we are,” Dutch declared, “and we reserve our respects for those that actually deserve it. I would have hoped you understood that.” The brother’s laughter morphed into displeasure and John let out his own annoyed grunt.

“Enough! We had a  _ deal _ . Dutch for my son. Where is he? Jack! Jack!” John whipped his head around and called out for the boy, straining his ears to catch a muffled sound or a call, but Thomas’ huff of annoyance blocked any other sound from reaching him, “Jack! Where is he?”

“Someone shut that dog up!” Yelled one of the brothers, the familiar yellow-toothed man now brandishing his rifle and gearing up to aim it at John. Thomas huffed again and raised a hand, silencing everyone. The only sound left was the wind whistling over the grass and over the knife’s edge of the cliff to the rushing waters below.

“You really are an untrained mutt, Mr. Marston,” The young McCourt took a deep breath through his nose, “The boy is fine. You’ll see him in due time.”

“I want to see him  _ now _ .”

Thomas and John locked eyes. John stared as hard as he could, refusing to back down and Thomas saw the challenge loud and clear. Eventually the young McCourt raised his brows and twisted his chin to release a piercing whistle into the air. The signal sent one of the guards marching towards the big tent to duck inside. John felt his heart race as the seconds passed, not a sound being made to indicate anything about his son, but soon enough the man reemerged. Jack was being dragged out behind him by the back of his collar. His arms were tied behind his back, his ankles were tied together, and he was gagged with a cloth knotted at the back of his head. 

The man tossed the boy forward where he grunted into the dirt. With Jack curled up on his side, now facing John, John immediately noticed the red scratched along the boy's right cheek and the faint blood stains in the cloth.

“You sonofabitch! I’ll kill you for touching him!” John whipped out his pistol and aimed it at Thomas but the young man simply tutted at him, disappointed. Dutch whipped out his arm and latched onto John’s bicep, digging his fingers deep into the muscle as a warning.  _ Wait for his signal _ . That was the only thing barely stopping John from pulling the trigger.

“Nothing would have happened if the boy kept his mouth shut, but he lacked respect. It’s no wonder where he got it from. Don’t be so mad, Mr. Marston. Your son learned his lesson quick and, well,” Thomas shrugged his shoulders and eyed the scars on John’s face, “what a pair you make. Like father, like son.”

John was seeing red, but Dutch’s voice rang out like Death’s doorbell.

“You are in the business of making mistakes, Thomas McCourt. You best hope this is your last one. Boys are off limits.”

Thomas started laughing, really laughing, at Dutch’s threat and then his voice dropped cold.

“The boy ain’t off limits, Dutch Van der Linde. The boy is far beyond off limits after what you did to my Heidi.”

John felt a chill with the way the temperature dropped. With how those words came out, it felt like being back up in them mountains. 

“I told her to stay out of it, but she didn’t and you sent the  _ Law _ on us! Couldn’t handle the problem yourself? There are consequences when you don’t listen. She got what she deserved.” Dutch stood taller and placed the hand hidden by John’s body over the grip of his gun, “You’ll get yours too.”

All hell broke loose.

Thomas’ roar echoed with Dutch’s sharp whistle and the camp exploded as bullets rained down from all directions. John took an immediate aim at the man next to Jack and got him right between the eyes, but a bullet sang passed John’s ear, blowing through strands of his dark hair, and he was bodily knocked down behind cover before any other bullets could hit their mark.

When John twisted around and looked up, ready to sock the man above him, he saw that it was Arthur boxing him in. The older man had a fierce grimace marring his face and he held a hand to John’s shoulder, keeping him pressed to the ground, and popped his head up over their cover to let loose a few perfectly aimed bullets of his own. He was a hell of a shot. There was yelling and bloodied cries as men went down left and right, and John’s ears rang from the commotion.

When he got a chance, he pushed Arthur’s hold on him away and looked back over to where the boy was supposed to be but the spot was empty save for the dead man who dragged Jack from the tent. John frantically looked around, searching for his son, but Arthur yanked him back down under their cover as the bottles sitting before them exploded into a storm of glass.

“Arthur, he’s not there! I can’t find Jack!” John went to peek over again but Arthur kept him down.

“Stay down! You’re gonna get yourself killed, dammit!” Arthur fired another shot before ducking.

“I have to get Jack!”

John tried to get another look, even tempted to push himself away entirely from Arthur and run into the camp to search, but Arthur kept a hard, locking grip on his shoulder. All John could hear over his frustrated and frantic shouts were Dutch’s orders and gunfire. Arthur scowled as he crouched over John when another litany of shots pierce through their cover, narrowly missing their bodies. They needed to move. Now.

“Let’s go!” Arthur was dragging John out from behind the destroyed crates and over to a thick trunked tree. He threw John against it before pressing his body up against John’s to join, “I’ll go find him, John!”

“Arthur-!”

“I’ll find him! Cover me, Marston!” Arthur was racing out from behind the tree, two revolvers in hand and firing at the crowd before him while leaving no time for John to protest. John peeked out from the edge of the trunk, aiming his pistol and killing someone who was aiming for Arthur’s head. Arthur barreled forward, trusting John enough to keep men off him and not bothering to duck behind anything for cover. John was swearing up a storm, his throat hoarse from his yelling and squinting through the smoke as he took out one guard after the other. 

Arthur had reached the camp now, finally crouching behind a flimsy crate and firing to clear the space before he ducked around the tents in search of Jack. John lost sight of him quickly after that.

“God dammit!”

John ran into the fray and miraculously made it to the camp without getting himself shot. The gunfire was less boisterous by the time he reached it. John wasn’t sure, but it looked like the gang was able to take out more of the McCourt’s camp, but speaking of the McCourts… they were nowhere in sight. John checked his surroundings, making sure there were no guards ready to kill him the second he stepped out, and moved forward when all seemed clear. His eyes were set on the large tent. Maybe while he wasn’t lookin’, they dragged Jack back inside.

He was reaching for the tent flap when the silence suddenly hit him. The gunfire had stopped. John whipped around but something solid rammed into his cheek and sent him crashing to the ground. He hit the ground hard with no time to recuperate before a heavy boot slammed into his side and knocked him onto his back. John, half aware of anything going on, scrambled for his pistol but as soon as he wrapped his fingers around the grip, a long barrel pressed harshly into his forehead and John froze.

“Drop it.”

One of the brothers stood above him, the same man who knocked him out when they took Jack from him. The man had blood covering his teeth when he sneered down at John.

Knowing he was caught, John dropped his pistol and took his chance to look around. Dutch was also on the ground with a bloodied hand plastered to his upper leg where it was clear he was shot. The other brother held Dutch at gunpoint but John also spied Charles and Hosea with their guns aimed at the brother. John couldn’t see the others from where he was and he still couldn’t find Jack.

As if on queue, Thomas stepped out from behind the large tent, wrangling Jack behind him like a wild animal and he was laughing hysterically. John watched in horror as Thomas continued to drag Jack with him until they reached a few shallow feet from the edge of the ridge. Thomas then lugged Jack up by the ropes, pulled the gag from his mouth, and shoved his revolver right into the boy’s temple. Jack shielded half of Thomas’ body and everyone was left in a horrible standoff.

“You bastards!” Jack flinched at the volume of Thomas’ roar, “You dirty, rotten, degenerates!”

“Jack!” John screamed for his son but the brother above him cut him off with another swift hit with his gun.

“Pa!”

“Shut up!” Thomas jostled Jack in his arms and pulled back the hammer of his revolver. Jack froze but a visible tear fell from his eye, “My business, my money, my  _ woman _ \- you took it all from me Van der Linde! You stole from me and you killed my men! I’m going to make you hurt, Dutch. I’m going to make you watch as I kill every one of your men, and I’ll start with this boy. Then, I’ll find your camp, find your women and kill ‘em real slow, maybe have some fun with ‘em first, but they’ll die, Dutch. They’ll all die!”

“Let him go! Let my boy go!” John was risking it. It was obvious that Thomas was pulling on his last strings of sanity but John wasn’t going to watch Jack get hurt.

“Let him go? Is that what you want, boy? Want me to let him  _ go _ ?” Thomas stepped further back, dragging Jack with him and twisted his body slightly so that Jack’s foot slipped along the edge of the ridge.

“No!”

“You made your choice, Marston! I was gonna paint his brains all over the ground but you made your  _ choice! _ I’ll let him go!”

“Pa!” Jack’s voice cracked as Thomas started to spin and John’s throat burned against the scream tearing from his mouth, almost to the point where he could taste blood on the back of his tongue. John’s body moved as fast as it could, uncaring of the brother aiming his rifle at him and launching forward with an arm stretched out for his son, but unless time froze for him… 

John wouldn’t make it. No matter how hard he pushed, he was going to watch his son disappear over the edge and hear the scream rip from his son’s throat until it faded hundreds of feet below. John would be left with the memory of Jack’s eyes, wide and blackened by dilated pupils, and his skin paling to sheets of white. Abigail, even as a ghost she would never forgive him and John would launch himself into insanity over the guilt and the regret. His son was going to die all because John couldn’t protect him. John didn’t listen. If he just listened to everyone in camp telling him to stay, if he just listened to Arthur-

_ Arthur! _

With the muscled power of a lion, Arthur Morgan came barreling into view. He slammed into Thomas and Jack from the right, roughly tossing the boy to the side of safety and let his weight drop down on top of Thomas a mere foot from the edge. The young McCourt had no chance to defend himself, having lost his gun in the impact, and he was left wide open to Arthur’s iron punches. It was terrifying the way Arthur’s muscles moved with each hit, the power skyrocketing behind the momentum of his fist beating into Thomas’ face. Arthur hit him hard, harder than a bullet, and blood spewed from Thomas’ mouth and nose as Arthur continued to rain punches down onto him. 

It took a moment for everyone else to be knocked into motion. It took John a moment more, still shocked by the violence enveloping Arthur, until his eyes jumped back to Jack. His boy was safe, he was-

Jack was looking back at John, eyes wide as saucers at something behind John but before he could look, John was wrenched back by his collar and thrown to the ground. John opened his eyes to find the other brother growling and aiming his rifle and the next shot burst his eardrums. He flinched hard as blood rained down onto him and it took him a second to realize that he wasn’t in fact shot. Opening an eye revealed the McCourt brother with a hole through the eye wavering on his feet before collapsing backwards. John whipped his head around and found Lenny wiping his brow and offering a smile.

“You alright, Marston?” Jesus Christ, what would they do without Lenny.

Another gunshot went off and Charles stood tall with a smoking gun aimed where the last McCourt brother once stood. Hosea was by Dutches side, scrambling to fashion a bandage for their leader’s wound.

“Morgan! Morgan, stop!”

Everyone turned to find Bill tugging Arthur back from the bloodied pulp underneath him, the blonde’s fists and face covered red. Arthur was heaving breaths and making noises like a wild beast. He didn’t look away from the body that was once Thomas McCourt. There was so much hate in his eyes, so much violence directed at the corpse that it was damn hot enough to set fire to it.

John finally scrambled up onto his feet and ran to his son. He tugged at the ropes until they dropped and then wrapped his entire body around the boy. Jack really started to cry then and his fingers clenched into John’s clothes. John couldn’t keep his hands still, jumping from his son’s hair to his back and then to his face, checking the boy over for any damage. He clenched his teeth together as he took in the cuts on Jack’s cheek, but they were thankfully short and shallow enough that they would only leave a faint scar. They wouldn’t stand out like John’s. 

“I’m sorry, Jack.” His voice was muffled as he pulled Jack in tightly.

The boy tried to hold back tighter too and John could feel the shivers wracking his smaller body. John didn’t know how long they were like that, but it wasn’t until someone, Lenny, put a hand on his shoulder that John lifted his head. The first thing he saw was Arthur, still covered in blood but the violence in his eyes was gone. 

Arthur was looking back at him too, his blue eyes striking and intense while surrounded by red. It took John’s breath away.

John had so much he could have said to the man. He could have offered his thanks for saving Jack a million times over but the words wouldn’t come out. He even parted his lips hoping the sounds would just flow out but they never came. Arthur’s eyes flickered down to John’s mouth, something shadowed swimming through the older man’s eyes before fading, and he lifted his gaze back to John’s until he turned away completely. John closed his eyes and focused back on his son. He’ll thank Arthur later. Right now, he just wanted to get the boy back to camp.

He wanted to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. One more chapter to go
> 
> Side note - apologies about the second end note. Idk if anyone else is seeing it, but my end note from the Preface keeps attaching below my last two chapters and I can't seem to get rid of it. Just ignore it while I try to figure things out


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday!! 
> 
> Once again, I am sorry for the major delay to post this, but here it is!! The final chapter. Man, this was my first multi-chapter fic and it was tough. I was writing this for a long time, and while it's probably not the best thing I've every written, I did it. That's a nice feeling.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Mrs. Grimshaw, Pearson, and the girls flocked to the men when they trotted back into camp. Dutch was carried back to his tent with Molly and Mrs. Grimshaw following behind while Karen looked over Jack and added a touch of salve to his cuts. Thankfully that was all there was to see for the boy. He was perfectly healthy otherwise and once the girls were finished, they sent him back to John who led his son to their tent. Jack was dead on his feet by the time John got him into his bedroll and had fallen asleep as soon as his head rested on the pillow. John stayed to watch over his son for a little while, thanking whatever ghosts in the sky for Jack’s safety, before deciding to leave him be and get some air. 

Part of John still didn’t feel like he could breathe properly. Everything that happened, the adrenaline and the near escape from death just hours before was tying knots in his gut that he just couldn’t shake off. All of this felt like too close of a call. It would come as no surprise, once Dutch healed up enough, if they were to pack up their things and move on. 

It’d probably be for the best. The McCourts were a big name. If any of their partners found out about what happened, well, the Van der Linde gang would have an even greater target on their back.

John sat himself down at the slowly dying fire and wiped a hand over his face. He wanted to try and feel optimistic about moving. Maybe it’d give him a chance to find a place for Jack and start over. Jack deserved a new start, a safer start. After everything that just happened, the boy deserved to be as far away from the outlaw life as he possibly could, and John might find himself ok with letting all of that go too, if it was for Jack. Maybe.

John was pulled from his thoughts when Ms. Adler took a seat next to him on the log, kickin’ her feet out and crossing her ankles like any other cowboy. Society would have reprimanded her for failing to act like a lady but John had a feeling that Ms. Adler would simply laugh in their face, spread her knees farther apart, hunch over with an arm on her thigh, and smoke a cigarette like the man she was. That woman had a real roughness to her. John could respect that. He’d seen the way she shot, the bravery she had as she ran head first into shootouts. She was a lot like Arthur, except maybe a little more brash and a lot more crazy. Maybe she was made of iron, too.

“Happy you got your boy back?” 

John shook his head and wiped at his face again.

“That don’t describe the half of it.” 

Ms. Adler laughed, her smokey tone full of mirth and she took a deep pull of her bottle of gin before passing it over. John took a long, grateful swig for himself, settling with the alcohol as it burned on its way down.

“I guess I was being rhetorical. I’d probably stab you if you felt nothin’ after the way you acted.” She said it so easily, threatening John like that was something that belonged in casual conversation, and it made him laugh. This woman  _ was _ crazy. 

John liked her.

“I’d probably have stabbed myself first, Ms. Adler-”

“Call me Sadie. Ain’t an Adler no more after my husband was killed,” she cut in, ”And no. Arthur would’a stopped you before you could. That lug would never let something like that happen!”

“Arthur? What’re you talking about?” Sadie just gave John a long look with her eyebrows raised before she let out a low whistle and sat back in her seat, shaking her head.

“Men really are stupid. It’s a wonder any o’ you manage to get anything done.” She snatched the bottle back from John and gulped down a hefty amount. How she hadn’t fallen over drunk yet was the real wonder. John could only stare at her, utterly confused, and she smacked her lips before pursing them when she met his eyes, “Arthur told me, you know.”

“Told you what?” 

John really had no idea what this lady was going on about.

“About what happened. About how it all went down at that camp, and before with him giving you that pistol there, and even about when you took care of him back when he got sick. Don’t know why, but he told me.” Sadie smirked into the bottle and shrugged, “Must trust me.”

“Didn’t know you two were so close.” John turned away from her to stare into the fire. Something about Arthur spending so much time with Sadie without him even noticing rubbed him the wrong way. John wasn’t wrong about them being alike like two peas in a pod but apparently that also meant they stuck together like glue, but why the hell was Arthur talkin’ about him? And to Sadie of all people?

“You sorry sack of shit.” 

John jerked his head back to Sadie and she laughed at whatever she saw on his face.

“Why the hell are you tellin’ me all this?”

“John Marston, I am tellin’ you this so you can pull your head out of your ass!” 

John could feel his tempers start to flare. Sadie wasn’t makin’ any goddamn sense, “Christ, woman! Just spit it out!”

“Arthur left camp a little while ago. Went east. He said he wasn’t going far. Needed some ‘space’, or something,” John just stared at Sadie, completely dumbfounded now. Sadie stared back until she was rolling her eyes dramatically and pointing in the direction of the woods, “The sooner you go, Marston, the sooner you’ll find out! Go on!”

For some reason, John found himself pushing off of the log and walking in the general direction that she pointed in. He was shakin’ his head and muttering under his breath, calling Sadie a crazy woman amongst other things and Sadie just laughed behind him and let his words breeze over her. She knew he meant nothin’ by them anyway. 

“You can thank me later, kid!”

“I ain’t a kid!” 

That damned woman just cackled as he left her alone at the fire.

John was wandering through the woods for a little bit after that, honestly tempted to turn around and head back to camp because he was too tired to try and track the older man down but before he knew it, he was stepping passed the tree line into a small clearing and there the man was. Arthur was sitting on a fallen tree trunk, whittling away at some small piece of wood with his knife. His hat rested at his feet and his coat was slung over the trunk just above it, and the evening sun warmed up his silhouette in its golden glow.

John stopped right at the edge of the clearing, forgetting about what Sadie had said, and took the older man in. Arthur looked nothing like the beast who conquered the McCourt camp just hours earlier. Instead, the man returned to his quiet ways, tucked away in a cozy corner of the world to let the minutes pass by. He even looked a little small, despite his larger size, with the way he was hunched over and duckin’ his head close to his work. 

John didn’t really know what to make of the man at the end of the day, but the one constant that most people who interacted with Arthur caught on to was the feeling of being safe. He may be rough, he may be big, but if bullets aren’t flying by the time you run into the man, you’ll most likely want to get closer because he makes things feel real easy. That’s how John feels now.

John must have been staring for too long, though, because Arthur looked up and caught him where he stood. The younger man didn’t know what to do with himself suddenly. Anything he was going to say flew completely out the window, but Arthur went easy on him. He put the wood down and packed his knife away before pulling out a rusted cigarette box and taking two smokes out. He took another brief look at John before jerking his head to signal the younger man over while lighting his cigarette between his lips. 

John moved forward and took a seat next to Arthur, leaving about a foot of space between them on the log, and stuck the pre-offered cigarette between his lips. Before John could pull out a light, Arthur had one of his own lit matches held before John with a hand cupping the flame. John shot Arthur a furtive glance before leaning forward and settin’ the tip of the cigarette alight. He took a deep inhale, reveling in the feel of hot smoke seeping into his lungs, before releasing the smoke back into the air in front of him. As the cloud of smoke was whisked away by the evening breeze, John could feel Arthur’s eyes on him.

“Jack alright?” Arthur’s voice almost sounded too loud in the quiet clearing and both men flinched a little, but John settled easy and released another cloud of smoke.

“Yeah. He’s good.” He was fiddling with the cigarette between his fingers, tapping the ash off the end even though it was pretty much gone already, and turned his chin away to bite his lip, “I-”

John clenched his jaw and forced himself to look at the older man.

“What you did for Jack, for  _ me _ … Christ, Arthur, I-” He lowered the cigarette while digging the fingers of his other hand into his hair and looked out into the woods, “I owe you my life.”

Arthur lowered his cigarette, deciding on one more deep pull before stubbing it out under his boot. He then clapped a hand to John’s shoulder and shook him a little, drawing the younger man’s brown eyes back to him once more, and crooked the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t owe me, John. Consider it me makin’ up for oversteppin’ before.” 

Arthur’s crooked smile curled a little bittersweet. John saw the genuine twinge of regret for how Arthur had treated him, but he was shaking his head at Arthur’s words before the older man could wallow too much.

“Already made up for that, Morgan. You let me come with you so I could help get Jack back. I already forgave you for before.” 

Even now, the pistol Arthur gifted him weighed pleasantly on his hip. John didn’t have any lingering hard feelings about the whole thing. That was done and over with. But Arthur’s deed of bravery? It needed more than just John’s thanks. 

“Listen, Arthur, it don’t have to be now. You can think about it and tell me later, but I do owe you. A favor. Whatever it is, I’ll do it. Really, Arthur, least I can do.”

His last word dwindled out as he said it. The way Arthur was suddenly looking at him, how his presence became bigger and fuller the longer John looked back, was something entirely different than what it was before. John couldn’t pinpoint the change. Arthur ain’t even moved, but the older man’s eyes were piercing, digging into John so intensely that he was struck still where he sat. 

“You really want to pay me back, John?” 

Arthur leaned a little closer and his hand remained a heavy weight on John’s shoulder. The younger man blinked at Arthur, feeling a tickle in his gut at the lowered register of the older man’s voice, and nodded.

“Yeah, I do.”

John’s own voice had dropped to just above a whisper, but his words were genuine and clear. Arthur leaned in even closer, his eyes tightening as they took in John’s face and the younger man had begun to feel nervous as he took in his next breath. The older man’s hand started a slow glide from John’s shoulder up to the crook of his neck and rough fingers curled around the back.

“I can think of something, but,” Arthur’s hand stilled and John held his breath completely. He knew what was happening in the back of his head, the feeling in his gut reminiscent of what he first felt when Arthur cared for him before, but this was a step further into something new. Arthur was ready to breach this territory with John and drag him under and John realized he might be okay with jumping in. It all depended on Arthur’s words. 

The older man’s blue eyes dropped to John’s mouth before flitting back up and John throat worked as he swallowed, “it might be wrong of me.”

Arthur moved in a little more, hesitant, as the distance between them turned into only the barest of inches, and John found himself dipping just a scant closer.

“This alright with you?” Arthur spoke low and slow, drawing the question out like he was unsure about it.

John’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he felt like he was going cross eyed as he tried to meet the other man’s eyes when they were this close, but he was nodding.

“Yeah. It’s… alright.”

“Good.” John saw the crinkle at the outer corners of Arthur’s blue eyes and he felt the slight scratch of nails along the back of his neck, but his entire focus blurred when Arthur leaned in those last few inches. 

Arthur had to dip his chin and use his nose to nudge John’s head up a little before he could slot their mouths together. It was tentative, chaste, and John didn’t shift a muscle as Arthur moved. The kiss lasted barely a few seconds before Arthur was slowly pulling away. The man didn’t make it too far, though, because without thinking John’s free hand had shot up and grabbed at Arthur’s jacket lapels. John didn’t drag him back in but he kept Arthur close enough for their mouths to be hovering, allowing their breaths to intermingle with the others.

“ _ Shit. _ ”

That’s all the warning John got before Arthur was crushing his mouth back to the John’s, severe and all encompassing in a way that caused John’s forgotten cigarette to slip from between his fingers when he scrambled to grab at the log before he was barreled completely over. Arthur, unperturbed, carried on with his kiss and used his grip on John’s neck to hold him steady. John held on to the log and Arthur for dear life, sucking in air through his nose and gasped when Arthur’s fingers tangled a fraction too tightly in his hair. With him parting his lips around the slight noise he made, Arthur drove his tongue forward and invaded the new space until he was groaning with the taste.

John had his eyes clenched shut as Arthur took control. His body was assaulted by chills and shivers running over his skin. All he could smell was the woods and gunpowder and sweat, and all he could taste was cigarette smoke and something abstractly dark and bitter, like coffee grounds and whiskey but uniquely Arthur. Arthur’s tongue was warm as it glided against his and the older man barely let John take in air before he was diving back in. 

John had never been kissed like that before. Not even with Abigail or the nameless ladies he’d been with before her. Abigail liked sweet, short kisses until she could get close enough to just hold onto him and share the air between them, but Arthur… it was like the man aimed to conquer, to map every inch of John’s mouth until he couldn’t taste anything else but the older man.

Their motion pulled a low, satisfied rumble from Arthur and he drew his tongue slowly up the center of John’s, teasing him until John made a sound he previously thought only a woman could make. It was breathy and whiney, more air than his voice, and heat bloomed in his cheeks when John picked up that the noise had come from him. 

As soon as the sound escaped him, Arthur pulled back. John’s blush was followed by a worry in his gut, thinking he did something wrong and that Arthur would leave John’s “payback” at that, but Arthur didn’t go far. Arthur instead transitioned his kisses from John’s mouth to his jaw and down to his neck and John’s eyes fluttered at the new wave of shivers from the feather light pecks.

John’s hand that rested on the log swung up to grab at Arthur when he felt the older man start to suck at the tendon, the sensitivity of his skin flaring and sending sparks through his nerves. Arthur, smooth as a snake, used that moment to pull John in. He reached over, tucking his fingers behind the younger man’s knee, and dragged the leg over both of his. John held tightly as he was manhandled into Arthur’s lap, opening his eyes in surprise as he was situated with his knees bracketing Arthur’s hips as he was held steady by a large hand on his lower back. John tried to shift back, mouth opening and closing to announce his surprise, but Arthur pulled him in so he could suck harder at his skin and drag John’s hips in even closer until their bodies were plastered together.

Heavy breaths and airy gasps were falling out of John’s mouth at an uncontrollable rate and waves of chills were running through every corner of his body. With the way John was reacting to Arthur’s ministrations, the older man had him falling apart like a two cent whore and it was wreaking havoc on his brain. John was being shown a side of himself that he didn’t realize existed, but he liked it, much to his surprise. John liked the way Arthur was taking complete control. 

But he really had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t know how to maneuver with another man. His only experiences had been with women and he was the one leading things with them, quick and dirty because the luxury of time had never been on his side either. But this was entirely unfamiliar territory. And this was also Arthur. John could admit that the man could break him in half if he wanted to, tear him down the middle if ever crossed, but right now, Arthur was expertly taking him apart with just the hold of his hands and the touch of his lips on John’s skin and John didn’t know what to do besides let him. 

But who was John really fooling? He sure as shit was going to let him.

A quick graze of teeth brought John out of his head and he felt the squeeze of Arthur’s hand on his hip.

“You have to stop me now, John, if you don’t want this,” Arthur grunted the words out between pecks and sucks, too immersed in his activity to pull back completely, “I can’t stop myself.”

Arthur’s hands were ravenous, sliding all over his back and arms to the point where John’s jacket started to slip off his shoulders. The garment eventually fell to hook at John’s elbows and Arthur took advantage. His large hands reached underneath to mold over John’s back, his threadbare shirt the only thing separating skin on skin, and John pressed further against Arthur as he arched his spine when the heat sunk in.

“ _ Shit- _ ”

John ducked his face into Arthur’s hair with his mouth hovering over the man’s ear. The feel of soft blonde hair and the smell of tobacco and soap in his nose grounded John enough to make him realize just how it pained him to imagine Arthur walking away now. That feeling alone went beyond the pleasure of Arthur’s hands or the solid pressure of the man’s body against his. John’s want was weighted further by all that Arthur’s done for him to protect his and his son’s life, and the lives of everyone in the Van der Linde gang since the beginning. 

Arthur was a  _ good _ man with a hell of a lot more than iron running through his veins. Arthur was one of a kind. He held no qualms in shooting his gun or throwing a fist and he sure as hell ain’t afraid to toss the lot of his coin into a gamble because Arthur was always willing to risk it all if it meant that everyone else would make it through another day, even if he didn’t. Arthur’s willingness to sacrifice everything with no hesitation made him the most admirable man John had the pleasure of growin’ up with. John wouldn’t be half the man he was if it wasn’t for Arthur.

And what blew him out of the water was the sheer want Arthur had for  _ John _ , a lazy, scarred up runaway that got teased more than he got praised. It was a want that John subconsciously felt was there but never fully realized it until now. The lengths the older man went to for him, for Jack, because he  _ wanted to _ was unlike anything John had ever experienced before. Hell, the older man was crazy enough to carry John off that snowy mountain all those months ago, bloodied and torn up and with wolves trailing close behind. It was about god damned time John wanted to do the same. John wanted to stay by Arthur’s side so that  _ he _ could run for miles if it meant that Arthur would be safe and live another day. John wanted to be a wall of boulder rooted in front of Arthur so that any future blows wouldn’t dare dent the iron, and John wanted to do that day after day after day.

“Don’t-,” John hugged Arthur’s body closer to him, pressing himself against the man as tight as he possibly could and even tighter still when Arthur suddenly froze beneath him.

“Don’t you dare stop, Arthur.”

That’s all it took for Arthur to tear John’s jacket from his body and then scrambled to remove his own. Then the older man was roughly pulling the buttons from John’s shirt to push the fabric aside. When freed, John reached around again and held onto Arthur tightly, shaking in his lap with building nerves and excitement. Arthur’s hands finally landed on his skin, feathering over his scars and dragging from his chest and down to his abdomen.

John was on fire, continually burning up with every touch of Arthur’s hands. Arthur was making his own low sounds as he caressed every part of John he could reach, but he also was quickly starting to sound impatient. Their position, John’s chest under his hands, his neck under his mouth, it wasn’t nearly enough for Arthur now that he had his taste. John could feel the growing pressures of Arthur’s fingers dragging across his ribs, the slight squeeze as Arthur palmed over his shoulders and chest, and it didn’t take much longer for Arthur to drop his hands to John’s belt and start tearing the thing apart. 

John had to pull back a little then and give Arthur enough room to work, but the sight of Arthur ripping his belt from the buckle and clawing his pants open left him woozy. He had no time to anticipate the feel of Arthur abruptly reaching in and pulling his cock out, fisting it in a tight grip and pulsing at the base, but the moment had John dropping his head to the man’s shoulder with a cry. 

The build up until Arthur actually touched him was making John feel wild and that was enough of a distraction for Arthur to curl his burly hand under John’s thigh, tug him in tighter around his waist, and scoot both of them off the log and forward until John’s back rested on the Earth beneath them with Arthur hovering inches above.

John let out a small  _ ooph _ when he landed but he was easily brought back when Arthur’s hand wrapped back around on John’s cock once they were settled, and he didn’t waste any more time. John arched at the tight rhythm Arthur set, his hips jolting up to meet with each downward slide, and Arthur bent forward to mouth at his collarbone.

John’s head was tossed back and he was panting ruthlessly into the open air, but he kept his hands fisted around Arthur’s suspenders while tugging to keep him close. Arthur was stronger than him, though, and the older man easily kept his body hovering over John while he marked up his skin.

“Ar-Arthur, oh fuck...” John felt like he was going cross eyed with the myriad of sensations and his gut was rumbling with its own heavy want. There was a lick of jealousy at Arthur being able to explore John’s bared skin wherever he pleased yet not an inch of his was available to John. The thought alone motivated John to start tugging at the buttons of Arthur’s shirt until he managed to get a little more than halfway to reveal wiry curls of chest hair and the hard muscle underneath, but then his fingers slipped when Arthur twisted his wrist just right on the rosey head of his cock, thumbing the slit to spread out the wetness pearling at the tip. 

John lost all momentum, left to moan at the orange burnt sky above while Arthur dove in to drink the sound from him and to press his tongue between John’s lips. John kept feeding Arthur his moans and whimpers and Arthur swallowed them down like it was the only thing worth tasting. All the while, his hand kept moving on John, forcing his hips into a rhythm which brought wetness to the corners of John’s eyes with how close he was getting. So John closed them tight to keeping them at bay, but Arthur was clever, overwhelming, and omnipresent in everything he did. The older man slipped his other hand under John’s hips and underneath the band of his pants to push the fabric further down so he could squeeze the plump muscle hidden beneath. When Arthur’s fingers traveled even further, dipping until they skimmed the rim of his hole, John’s eyes popped back open and his legs squeezed around Arthur’s hips.

Arthur let out a satisfied hum.

“Real good for me, Johnny-boy. Real good.”

The awkward angle wasn’t enough to stop the rhythmic tease of Arthur’s fingers circling and pulling at the furled skin, stretching it out in a way that made blood rush to John’s cheeks and down his neck. While Arthur played with him, John kept flitting between opening his legs and clenching them tight around Arthur’s waist. He couldn’t decipher what his body wanted but John had no chance of escaping Arthur’s touch. He could only toss his head to the side and whimper into the grass.

“Shh, you’re alright. Shit, John, you sound so sweet…”

Arthur’s hand pulled back, leaving John shaking in their wake, but it was only to shuck the pants and boots from his body before pushing John’s legs apart and baring everything to him. John jolted and felt the need to cover himself, embarrassed and exposed, but the hungry look in Arthur’s eyes cemented him to where he lay. His body responded with twitches and clenches that left his cock leaking onto his stomach and his hole winking up at Arthur, and Arthur made a guttural sound that sent chills across John’s skin as the older man watched it all happen.

Arthur licked his bottom lip and let out a low whistle.

“Prettier than anything I ever saw, Marston.”

John tossed a hand over his eyes, unable to bear Arthur’s look any longer lest he risk the flush of his skin racing to every open corner.

“Quit looking, Morgan,” his voice came out rough and airy, barely above a whisper, “Do somethin’ already.”

John could feel Arthur’s hands slowly slide down his legs, palms wide and fingers stretched out over his skin until they rested at the crux of his groin. Arthur’s thumbs slid past the base of John’s cock and balls until they dipped and pulled his cheeks apart, showing off John’s hole so not one part of him could hide and John’s body fluttered. Sweat was already beading on his skin yet every passing second made John scorch hotter.

“Ain’t ever gonna stop lookin’ at you.” 

Christ, John bit his lip and peeked out from between his fingers to look at Arthur. He couldn’t just say things like that. 

“Arthur-” he whined out.

Arthur looked down at him, taking in all that was John and it was his turn to bite his bottom lip.

“No one’s seen you like this before…” John was shaking his head despite Arthur not really askin’ and his heart swelled in his chest knowing that it was the truth. This was for Arthur, for John and Arthur only. No one else got this. 

“Jus’ you.” Arthur caught John looking at him and he released his lip to smile sweetly, the corner of his blue eyes crinkling like they always did. 

“Good. That’s real good.”

Arthur diverted his eyes and looked down at John’s body while a hand let go to reach for his satchel behind him. John listened to bottles and bullets clink against one another as Arthur fished something out and finally set it on the ground. A few, quiet seconds passed and John, curious, looked passed his leg to see what Arthur is fiddlin’ with.

Just as John spied the small, opened tin sitting next to his hip, two of Arthur’s fingers returned to his body and circled steadily around his rim. The slick touch sparked against John’s nerves and with Arthur occasionally pressing at the edge, it made John attempt to close his legs again. Arthur pried his legs back open with one arm and simultaneously pressed a finger into John, just to his first knuckle, and John saw stars burst in the corner of his eyes.

“Let me see you. That’s it, Johnny-boy, relax for me.”

John was panting already, feeling his body tremble and burn as Arthur whispered out dirty words and thrusted his slicked up finger slowly until he could press it in even deeper. There was the slightest burn, faint enough to distract but not serious enough to stop and it dulled quickly to allow John to focus on the sizzle of pleasure. 

It didn’t take any longer for Arthur to slide in a second finger once the first was able to bottom out, and soon enough, a third finger had joined as well. John had scrambled onto an elbow and reached out to grab onto Arthur with his other hand as the feeling of being stretched took over his senses. He could hear himself whimpering and whining out Arthur’s name, but he had no control over it. John was helpless to Arthur’s touch and the sight of the older man’s arm moving between his legs. All of it was melting John down into a puddle. 

“John, you alright?”

John met Arthur’s eyes, watching as they dropped to his open mouth where breaths fell continuously between them and then even lower to his adams apple when John closed his mouth on a dry swallow. He was nodding his head before dropping his chin to his chest and staring at the steady movement of Arthur's arm. He couldn’t see everything, but the feeling of Arthur’s fingers pressing and scissoring and curling flashed like lightning behind his eyes.

“Y-yeah-  _ hah _ \- ’m good.”

Arthur leaned down further to nuzzle his nose into John’s unruly hair and suddenly John was crying out into the older man’s ear as Arthur abruptly curled his fingers and pressed  _ hard _ against his walls.

“ _ Arthur-! _ ” 

The pressure was incessant now that Arthur found this spot inside John, shallowly thrusting so he could hit it with deadly precision and John was starting to worry about all the noises he was making. His gut clenched tight the more Arthur continued and John’s moans barely made it possible to hear Arthur’s soft groans. It didn’t take much longer for John to feel the beginnings of his climax, the way it built from his toes and fingertips to how it encroached upon his center, and he dug his fingers into Arthur as his moans hiccupped and choked out of his throat.

“I-  _ Arthur,  _ wait-”

And that’s all it took for Arthur to growl in John’s ear, his body vibrating with the sound, and to pull his fingers out and away. John pressed his face hard against Arthur’s when the utter emptiness in him cut off the current previously flowing through his veins. John frantically snaked his arms around Arthur’s shoulders as a hand threaded into the older man’s blonde locks behind his head to wordlessly beg Arthur to come back and to fill in the crater he just left. With John’s face tucked tightly into Arthur’s body, he missed the man tearing his belt open and pushing his pants away enough to pull himself out, but John’s breath rushed from him when the blunt head of Arthur’s cock pressed directly against his hole.

Arthur felt big, a hell of a lot bigger than his fingers, and it seized John’s heart enough to worry him, but Arthur didn’t push forward. He just kept himself present against John, applying the faintest pressure but not enough to penetrate and John realized how much he tensed up at the initial feeling when his legs started to relax and open up again around the older man’s waist. Even so, Arthur still waited when John managed to open up fully and give Arthur the space he needed. 

Noticing this, John tried to listen to the man carefully and figure out what he needed to do to get Arthur to move, but there was no sign nor hint of what Arthur was waiting for and his constant press against John’s sensitive entrance was short circuiting any lasting train of thought he tried to have. Asking was quickly becoming his only option. John wanted to use his words, even pull back to look Arthur in the eye, but that was a lot harder to do when he was feeling so on edge. The only thing John managed was Arthur’s name, but Arthur seemed to always know what he was trying to say. Always.

“...Arthur?”

The man turned his head to kiss from John’s cheek and over to his lips, letting each press last so that they both had to breathe in through their noses. John parted his lips to let Arthur in and to tangle their tongues long enough for him to relax even further under the older man. Finally Arthur pulled back with another kiss and met John’s lidded eyes.

“When you’re ready, John. Only when you’re ready.”

The words were out immediately.

“I’m ready.” 

“John-”

John didn’t want to wait any longer. 

“Do it.” 

Arthur looked down at John only a minute more, gauging for himself the sincerity of John’s words before the younger man finally felt an increasing pressure against his hole. Hungry and eager and aided by slick, Arthur’s head pressed in until John’s walls were squeezing around the member, making both men groan deeply. John’s head dropped back as he panted, the stretch more intense than anything he had ever felt, and Arthur grunted as he kept going. He used slow, shallow thrusts to push deeper and deeper, and he grabbed the backs of John’s thighs to press them to his chest to make more room. 

John could barely catch his breath as Arthur sunk deeper inside him, blinking wetly against the burn and tremble of his body, and his jaw dropped completely as Arthur’s cock suddenly slid against that electric bundle inside. John’s vision whited completely when his nerves sang and a ringing filled his ears as his whole body clenched. All sense of time and place left him as his body came alive under Arthur, and the arch of his spine and the flush of his skin forcing the blood rushing through his body to swim past his ears, deafening. The only thing to bring him back was a biting sensation on the backs of his legs that made John remember it was where Arthur held him open, but by that point he didn’t know how long it had been. Arthur was staring down at him with a sweltering heat that made John involuntarily whimper.

“ _ Shit,  _ John.” Arthur sounded wrecked, his voice like gravel and his eyes near black after having watched John fall apart beneath him. He was holding completely still with his hips pressed fully to John’s, but the twitch of his cock was more than obvious as to how affected he was. 

It made John quake.

Without warning, Arthur pulled back until just his head remained inside and then subsequently slammed back in so devastatingly that it ripped John apart. He cried out as oversensitivity swirling with hot pleasure burned through him. It was like the line holding Arthur back this whole time snapped, sending him into a torrent of precise and fierce thrusts that lit John up like dynamite. 

The angle was deep, overwhelming, and John helplessly opened himself up to it. He couldn’t focus on the feeling, the rhythm or the tempo. All he could do was take, take, and take what Arthur was giving him with broken noises. His body was trying valiantly to get him up again to spill out another orgasm, but every nerve ending was screaming and floundering in confusion each time Arthur slammed into that sensitive bundle. Arthur was literally making John crazy, and he cried out his insanity through Arthur’s name.

He might actually cum again. It was possible if Arthur kept fucking him as hard as he was. Arthur seemed to know it too with the way he leaned heavier onto John’s legs and slipped a hand between them to jack off John’s cock, now half hard and weeping. John’s full-bodied jerk didn’t deter Arthur’s drive as he screwed into John’s ass and fisted his cock at the same pace. 

“I can’t, Art- I-  _ fuck _ , I can’t-” John was feeling frantic and on edge with every sensation wracking his body, and his words came out in puffs and hitches. Arthur squeezed at his thigh and massaged the muscle like he was soothing an animal and he dropped his lips just over John’s to whisper into his mouth.

“You’re alright. One more, just one more.”

All it took was for Arthur to shift over and suck at his pulse for John to give him what he wanted. John’s whole body seized up again and his spine curved up against Arthur and he was spilling between them. Arthur’s near pained groan filled his head and John could feel the man fill him, hot and wet, and he felt his eyes roll back as his hole fluttered around Arthur’s twitching cock. 

It felt wonderful and encompassing and on the cusp of being too much, but John was floating as his entire body welcomed it. The two men let themselves bask in each other as they slowly came down, resting against one another as the sky continued to darken above them.

It could have been hours with John and Arthur like that, panting and holding onto one another as they settled down, but the aches were quickly seeping into their muscles and bones that Arthur leaned back and slowly pulled out of John. The younger man made a soft sound as his body adjusted around nothing while Arthur tucked himself away and shifted to lie next to him. They stayed quiet like that, their sweat cooling in the evening breeze and watched the sky shift and swirl from oranges and reds to purples and greys.

When the breeze became more of a chill, John started to shift with the intention of getting his clothes, but Arthur was already ahead of him. Arthur was pushing himself up onto his feet before turning and offering John a hand. John took it, wincing a little as he was pulled up, and was about to reach for his clothes when Arthur stopped him.

“I’ll do it.”

“Yeah, ok.”

John was thankful for the evening shadows as Arthur got to a knee. Even after everything, he was still a little unnerved by his exposed state. The older man didn’t seem to notice as he reached for John’s leg and guided him into his pants before sliding them up until they hung at his waist. Then, Arthur stood back up to hold out John’s shirt and eyed the younger man expectantly. John got the message and turned around to reach back and slide his arms through the holes until the garment rested open on his shoulders. 

Arthur spun him back around, reaching for the shirt and slowly buttoning each button until he was able to tuck the hem into John’s pants and fasten that too. John didn’t really know what to do with himself as Arthur tucked fabric in here and pulled at fabric there, but soon enough, John was pieced back together in front of the man, looking just as he was when he found Arthur in the clearing. 

Before John could find them standing there, not saying anything, strange, Arthur pulled John in tight against his chest. John was quick to hold on and squashed himself against Arthur. 

“Looks like you don’t owe me no more.”

John softly punched Arthur on the back and swooped in for a kiss, leaving Arthur with a muffled grunt at the impact but he pressed closer to kiss John harder.

“Shut up, Morgan,” John whispered between kisses until he finally pulled away.

“Hm, I don’t know, Marston. You still got a need for me?” Arthur’s teasing lilt pulled a small laugh from John, shaking his head and tempted to roll his eyes.

“I should be asking you that.” 

Arthur’s smile softened and he stared down at John, the long shadows from the trees stretching over his face but John could still see the blue of his eyes. Brighter than the moon.

“Always did, Marston.” He leaned forward again and placed a chaste kiss on John’s lips before pulling back, and it felt weirdly final, like Arthur didn’t know if he could ever do that again. 

Arthur stepped away to grab his satchel from the ground and slip it over his shoulder before stepping back to John and set a warm hand to his shoulder. He stared at John for a moment, his face not giving anything away, until he squeezed his hand gently and started to make his way back to the tree line, in the direction of the camp. 

“Think I always will.”

John watched him, cemented to his spot when Arthur’s words hit him. It was all unsaid until then, and now with the words lingering in the air, a flush of warmth and nerves wrapped around John’s heart. If he didn’t move now, then it would all end. 

He bolted after Arthur, grabbing onto his arm and yanking the older man back to him. Arthur spun as he was pulled back and John stepped forward to meet him. He wrapped himself around Arthur, framing his rugged face with his hands and felt the older man’s arms do the same to him, and John tilted his head to roughly kiss Arthur where he held him. It was as passionate as the one Arthur first gave him, and it left them both panting when John finally pulled back.

“You idiot. You damn fool.”

“John-?”

‘Me too, Morgan. Me and Jack. We need you too.”

The camp wasn’t far off. They still had the law on their tails and anyone else who wanted payback for the McCourts. There were more wolves and even bigger bears, and they’d be hunting for coin until the day they died, but Jack was alive. John was alive. And Arthur Morgan himself was still kicking. Until that changed, where there would be no more sunrises or sunsets to greet, then that would just be another day of John needin’ Arthur. 

John applied pressure to where he held the older man, holding his face still as he met his blue eyes dead on. Arthur’s deadeye was unparalleled, his sights glued to John like a target as he made it clear that he was listening. Good, John thought, Arthur didn’t want to miss what came next. This was not a time to leave room for doubt.

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Fin~
> 
> Thank you for reading! I really appreciate anyone who stuck with this. It really means a lot. <3

**Author's Note:**

> There's the Preface! I have Chapter 1 officially ready to go, but I won't upload it until Tuesday/Wednesday. The the chapters will come once a week after that!
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed the little preface. I know it's short but don't worry, the other chapters are much longer than this. Let me know what you think so far!


End file.
